Drinking Buddies
by A Traveler
Summary: Always in control, that's Doctor Temperance Brennan. Until now. Since almost losing her partner to a brain tumor, she can't seem to get her emotions back in check. She's coping badly and Booth is about to find out how bad it is. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

DRINKING BUDDIES

CHAPTER ONE

The doorbell rang insistently jarring Special Agent Seeley Booth out of a sound sleep, face down on his couch.

"Ouch." He rubbed his aching neck and cheek. Instead of a pillow, he'd fallen asleep on a hardback copy of his partner's, forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan, latest forensic thriller, "Bagged Bones". The book fell to the floor with a thud when Booth rolled off the couch and stumbled to his feet.

"Hold on," he yelled as the doorbell rang again. He swung the door open to the sight of Doctor Brennan forcefully shoving past him into his front hall. He caught a glimpse of tears running down her red face as she brushed past. The annoyance coursing through him, born of being rudely awoken in the middle of the night, evaporated instantly. He'd known this woman for four years through all sorts of personal and professional circumstances and he could count the number of times he'd seen her cry, really break down and weep, on one hand. Instinct took over and his hand shot and latched onto her shoulder, stopping her forward motion.

"What's wrong, Bones?" He turned her to face him, holding her shoulders squarely with both hands. She looked terrible; Booth could easily see that she was way past tipsy. Her hands came up to steady herself on his chest. They were streaked with blood that she had apparently tried to wipe off. Her chin trembled as she tried to talk.

"Angela's been in a bar fight," she managed to say. "She was taken by ambulance."

Booth took a closer look at his partner. A livid slash marked one side of her face and the left leg of her jeans was torn and bloody. He frowned as fear flooded his veins.

"Where? Were you with her? What happened?" He looked her up and down for injuries.

"St. Andrews. Yes. We were at George's Grill," she said, naming a bar walking distance from Booth's apartment. That explained how she'd ended up at his door. Seeing her nearly incoherent, he shuddered to think of his vulnerable partner finding her way through the darkened alley to his door in her condition; his hands tightened possessively on her shoulders.

"We had a few drinks. I don't know how it started, but I think Angela got in between two guys who were fighting and one of them stabbed her."

"You think?"

"I don't really remember what happened," she admitted. Tears began anew.

"Is she hurt badly?" Booth was wide awake now and running around his tiny living room, pulling on his socks and shoes and looking for his black leather jacket.

"I don't know. Can you drive me to Saint Andrews?"

"Of course. Come on."

They ran down the back steps to the alley where Booth's black SUV was parked. Booth was halfway into the driver's seat when he happened to look over at Brennan. Stumbling across the gravel lot favoring the leg that was ripped and bleeding, she hadn't been able to keep up with her sober partner. It finally got through to Booth that she was very drunk and hurt. He was at her side in a few seconds holding her upright.

"Whoa, Bones," he soothed, just managing to hold on and keep her from hurting herself further as she slipped to her knees. Two hoarse coughs were all the warning he got. She retched while Booth struggled to hold her hair out of the way. Exhausted, she collapsed against him. He fumbled through his coat pockets for a handkerchief. Finding one crumpled yet clean, he handed it to her.

"Just leave me alone; go away," she begged him, crying from embarrassment while she dabbed at her mouth.

"I don't think so," Booth answered firmly, still holding onto her arms and supporting her back so she wouldn't slump to the ground.

"I've got to go see Angela," she insisted. But her eyes were closed and puffy and her words sounded muffled.

"I'll call St. Andrews' hospital right now." Booth pulled out his cell, dialed the operator and asked to be connected. After a very short conversation, he hung up.

"They won't give me any information over the phone."

"I have to go," Brennan pleaded, still slumped against her partner's side.

"Look, Bones, you're in no shape to go anywhere. I'll call Hodgins and send him, okay? He can call us as soon as learns anything about Angela's condition."

Not waiting for her approval, Booth was back on the phone, this time with Jack Hodgins, telling him what had happened. When Booth hung up, he pocketed his cell and gently pulled Bones to her feet. She groaned and held one hand to her head.

"He's going to the hospital, and you're coming back inside with me. Can you walk?"

"Yes, I can walk," she answered in an outraged tone. Nevertheless, she swayed and fell against Booth at the first attempted step. He caught her easily, having anticipated her lack of strength, and supported her with one strong arm anchored around her waist with the other holding her opposite shoulder. Step by step, they retraced their path up the back stairway. Their progress was slow but eventually Brennan was safely deposited back on Booth's couch, where she curled into a ball with her face tucked into the cushions. Booth slid down to sit on the floor beside her, rubbing her shoulders and back. He felt miserable; helpless.

"Bones?" He asked. She didn't answer. Leaning up so he could see her face he discovered she'd fallen asleep, or maybe she was actually unconscious. He'd have to wait for answers until she was up to giving them, he realized. With a sigh he leaned against the couch and laid his head against the arm rest. There was no use going back to bed at this point; he would only have to get up for work in a few hours and Hodgins would be calling with more information soon anyway. Booth tried to remember a time when he'd seen his smart, serious partner so wasted and drew a blank. He was completely at a loss; Bones just didn't get herself into situations like this. At least that's what he'd always believed. Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought. Troubled thoughts chased around his mind as he dozed off.

The ringing of his cell phone woke him again. The house was still dark telling Booth the hour was way earlier than his usual reveille. Shaking his head to clear it, he flipped open his phone.

"Booth."

"Booth, it's Jack Hodgins. I'm over at the hospital."

"Did you find Angela?" Booth asked, slipping around the corner into the kitchen so as not to wake Bones just yet.

"She's in surgery," he said in a strangled tone. "The nurse on call says she lost a lot of blood. She's critical. How's Dr. Brennan?"

"Bones is going to be okay. What do you need from me, Jack?" Booth's heart ached for his friend.

"Call Cam for me, would you? Tell her what happened. Tell her I won't be in today; I'm staying here with Angela."

"I understand. I'll call Cam. Bones and I will be over to the hospital as soon as she feels up to it."

"What happened to Dr. Brennan?" Hodgins asked again. Booth was amazed at Jack's concern for Bones in the face of the crisis with Angela. It was a poignant reminder of how interconnected all of them were.

"She has a few superficial injuries and she had a lot of alcohol in her system when she showed up at my place last night. She's still out of it, but I'm taking care of her. We'll see you soon, okay, man?"

"Sure. Thanks." Hodgins hung up first, leaving Booth staring at his phone worrying about both Angela and Jack. If anything happened to Angela, Booth knew it would devastate Hodgins. And Bones.

"Booth."

He dropped the phone on the counter and hurried back to the living room to find Brennan sitting up, holding her head in her hands. The dawn glow was beginning to fill the room. She looked soft and frail in the gold light filtering in through the window over the couch. Booth sat down beside her.

"How are you doing?"

"Hurts," she murmured into her hands.

"What… your head? Your leg? What else? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Angela and I met these two guys a few weeks ago. Speed dating. We met them at George's last night for drinks; that's where Angela and I always go."

"You do?" Booth frowned in confusion. He'd always spent a lot of time with Brennan after hours; he couldn't figure out how she managed to spend so much time out with Angela too.

"Look, Booth, all I care about right now is Angela. I want to go see her. Please, Booth."

He nodded. "You're right. I'll take you by your place to get cleaned up and changed and then we'll go over to the hospital. Hodgins is with her, you know."

"Good. That's good. I can't believe this is happening," she whispered. Bones got up and walked to the door where Booth met her with his car keys in hand. Neither spoke until they arrived at St. Andrews.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

DRINKING BUDDIES

CHAPTER TWO: Temperance

The waiting room at the hospital was disturbingly familiar to Bones. She'd waited here after Booth had been shot in the chest because he'd taken a bullet meant for her. She'd sat here when Cam was almost killed by the crazy serial killer, Howard Epps. And most recently she'd waited during her partner's brain surgery and had spent a good deal of time sleeping on the arm chair in front of the TV during the four terrible days it had taken Booth to regain consciousness. Now she was waiting to hear if her best friend was alive or dead. She shuddered and sank into the same familiar arm chair.

"I'll go find Hodgins, okay?" Booth's hand massaged a circle on her shoulder. She reached up and took his hand, communicating to him that she didn't want him to go yet. He understood and crouched down to her eye level. Brennan could barely meet his tender gaze. She didn't deserve his kindness; she'd messed up big this time. She couldn't bear to risk his disappointment or rejection.

"I'll be right back." With a sigh Brennan released his hand and nodded. She felt him press a kiss onto the top of her head and it was all she could do to hold back tears. Once Booth disappeared down the hall she felt a deep sense of loss. She gulped in a deep breath and walked to the window, looking for something, anything, to distract herself from the ache inside. Rain trickled down the pane.

She thought back over the last few months. Since Booth's medical crisis she'd been moody, irritable, and confused. Nothing made sense any more. Going to Guatemala hadn't distracted her like she'd hoped it would. Then when she got back, Angela had noticed how down she was. When Angela had urged her to let loose and have a little fun, she shocked her best friend by agreeing. They'd been going out at night two or three times a week for a while now. The drinking had progressed gradually, so gradually it was only now that Brennan realized she might actually have a problem with it. Booth had asked her what happened last night; she wished she could remember. Her head hurt. Garbled images flashed in her memory in confusing disarray, but she found herself unable to piece together a coherent timeline.

The worst thing was it wasn't the only night she couldn't remember. Since she and Angela had begun their bar hopping she had increasingly awoken the next day with a pounding headache, sick stomach, and dry mouth, trying to remember where she'd been and how she'd managed to get home safely. Camille had even commented about her late arrivals at the lab; up until these past few weeks it had been unheard of for Brennan to be late.

Just thinking about her nightly binges made Brennan unbearably thirsty for a cup of strong coffee. Rummaging through her pocket, she found a wrinkled five dollar bill. This would work. She wandered numbly out of the waiting room and down the first hall she found. Examining the bill as she walked, she stopped short in the hallway. Somebody's phone number was scrawled across the side of the bill. The name "Marcus" was above the number. She didn't know anyone named Marcus. She wondered whose bill this was and how it had gotten into her pocket. She'd have to ask Angela.

Angela. Somehow she'd already forgotten why she was here in this hospital, shuffling down the sterile halls in search of a coffee machine. Stalled in confusion, she stood motionless, staring down at the money in her hand, questioning why she'd left the waiting room in the first place. Booth had said he'd be right back with information on Angela. She should have stayed where she was. Why had she left the waiting room?

"Bones, what are you doing?"

Booth's familiar voice ringing out from behind her made her knees go weak with relief. She turned to him, still holding the bill, and fastened desperate eyes on him. In two long strides, he was at her side with a firm hold on her elbow.

"I don't know, Booth. I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted in a shaky whisper. Booth frowned in concern. His hand smoothed a stray lock of hair from her cheek and he frowned even more at the sight of the bloody slash across it.

"Angela's going to be okay. She's out of surgery, awake, and talking to Hodgins. I came to tell you so you wouldn't worry, but you weren't in the waiting room." His tone was mildly accusatory.

"Can I see her?"

"As soon as we get you looked at down in the ER, yes, you can see her. But that gash on your face still looks pretty bad. You should get that cut on your leg looked at too. I should have taken you down there first. Come on; let's get you fixed up, Bones." His arm was now tucked around her shoulder and under her opposite arm, holding her tightly. She didn't fight him; she was actually grateful to not have to think about what to do next, and to just submit to his capable lead. Stuffing the money back into her pocket and hanging on his waist, she shuffled along, her eyes half-shut, unaware of how everything she was doing was causing her partner to worry more and more.

The ER waiting room was almost empty, which meant Brennan was taken back right away. Booth followed and watched from the doorway of the examining room as the nurse cleaned up her face and leg. The doctor came in right behind her, spent a few minutes assessing his patient, and had the nurse take some blood. Then he came out to join Booth in the hall.

"Are you the spouse?"

Booth cleared his throat. "Ah, no. We work together."

"Right. How did this happen?" The doctor asked the questions mechanically, barely listening to the answers. The bags under his eyes and the tired line of his lips told Booth he didn't really care.

"I wasn't with her. She says she got into a bar fight."

"A knife fight?" He gave Bones a distasteful glance.

"I don't know exactly what transpired yet," Booth answered coolly. Already, he didn't like this doctor.

"She was drunk, right? The blood alcohol level will probably not show up very high now but she looks like she's been drinking a lot."

"Yeah. It's not like her, though. She doesn't do stuff like this." If only this cynical doctor knew who was sitting on a gurney in his emergency room, Booth thought. The best forensic anthropologist in the city; best-selling author; tireless crusader; generous benefactor. If he could only know all the many qualities that Booth had grown to appreciate about Temperance Brennan, he wouldn't be looking at her like that, like she was gutter trash.

"If you say so." The doctor smirked and wrote something on her chart. Giving the paperwork to a nurse, he excused himself to see the next patient. Booth watched him leave, turned to Brennan and walked over to where she sat on the end of the gurney. She met his stern eyes for a second before she blinked uneasily and looked away. With a quick motion of his hand Booth gently took her chin and turned it up to face him, forcing her to meet his gaze. One long finger smoothed up and down her jaw line.

"How about telling me what happened last night, Bones?"

Frustration flooded her eyes. "I don't remember it very well," she mumbled.

"Start at the beginning, with whatever you can remember. When and where did you and Angela meet up?"

"Angela drove us to George's straight from the Jeffersonian. We got there before our dates so we had a couple of drinks and played a round or two of darts. When the guys showed up, they found us in the back room and joined us. We decided to stay near the dart board while we ate so we could play a few more rounds. I remember we ordered appetizers, more drinks, and I had a shot of whiskey." She tried to look away. Booth leaned in closer.

"One shot?" She avoided eye contact, looking anywhere but straight ahead into the dark depths of her partner's eyes. She didn't want to see the repugnance she knew she'd find in them.

"Well, maybe more than one," she finally said, meeting his eyes reluctantly. She didn't see distaste; she saw raw hurt. It occurred to her that she'd lied to him about having just one shot. When had she started lying to Booth?

"What happened after you ate dinner?"

"I don't remember actually eating dinner. I had a few bites of nachos and I…" Bones stopped talking as it dawned on her that she'd mostly just drank.

"Booth, I'm so sorry. You must hate me."

Booth was astounded. "Hate you? Bones… I could never hate you."

"Your father was an alcoholic." His hands clenched on her shoulders and she winced.

"So… is that what you are, Bones? Are you an alcoholic?" He leaned in closer still, pressing his forehead against hers, holding her hostage and not allowing her to escape the question.

"No, of course not. But I guess I did have a few too many. And I don't remember how Angela got hurt. I just remember having blood on my hands… her blood… I felt so strange, like I was floating. I remember being at your apartment afterward, but I don't know how I got there."

"Bones, how long has this been going on?"

"Has what been going on?" The innocent look on her face was eerily familiar. Without warning Booth was catapulted back to an earlier time, to his childhood, and he was listening to his Dad explain that he didn't really have a drinking problem. The unwanted comparison pierced him to the core of his being. This couldn't be his Bones; it just couldn't. He resisted the urge to shake her.

"Look at me. Are there other nights out that you can't remember?"

Brennan was silent, her guilt answering the question without words. Booth released her chin. He straightened to his full height and stepped back. Pain was abundantly evident in his dark eyes and she choked back a sob at the sight of it.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I would never do anything to hurt you, Booth," she cried. "Never."

"You already have, Bones." He couldn't look at her; he couldn't stand still. After a moment or two he spun on his heel and stalked out. He didn't know who she was any more; and yet, she was his best, his closest friend, the only person he confided in without reservation, without hesitation. Up until this moment, he'd admired her more than anyone else he'd ever known. His heart was shattering and he didn't know how to stop it.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Thanks to all you reviewers for your insightful comments and words of encouragement—it's great motivation to keep writing. Sorry, readers, it's going to be a rough road for Booth and Brennan for another chapter or two. This is a short chapter but the next ones are longer._

_P.S. I live in Virginia and the storm heading up the coast is predicted to snow us in for the weekend. So… hot drinks and write! It's a writer's perfect storm._

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER THREE: What Happened to Angela**

"Sweets!" Booth had been striding down the hall away from the ER at such a furious pace that he almost ran down the young psychiatrist. Relief washed over Lance Sweets' face as soon as he saw Booth. He stepped back quickly to avoid the imminent collision.

"Agent Booth! I came over as soon as I heard what had happened from Camille. How are Angela and Dr. Brennan?"

"They're both going to be fine. Angela was stabbed but Hodgins says she's out of the woods. I'm on my way to see her now, if you'd like to come with me." Booth was polite to a fault, almost cold; something he only did when he was upset about something.

"Sure," Sweets agreed, falling into step beside the troubled agent and glancing at Booth uneasily. He'd noticed his friend's dark mood immediately.

"Are you okay, Booth?"

"No," he answered shortly.

Sweets stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"What's going on?" He demanded. "I thought you said they were both going to be fine."

Booth didn't know why he relied on Sweets; it didn't make any sense. He was too young to have had any life experiences that could make his advice worth anything to a man of the world like Booth, and yet in the short time he'd known Sweets, Booth had inexplicably grown to trust him. Of course the kid was brilliant, and he was usually right, but most of all, he cared deeply about his friends. It was this last trait that won Booth over now. He stopped and leaned against the wall.

"It's Bones. She's changed so much over the last two months I feel like I don't know her at all. Can someone change that quickly? Or is it me who's changed? I mean, you've noticed other things that are different about me since my surgery."

"No, it's not just you, Booth. I've noticed that her behavior has been different ever since your brain surgery. She seems… I don't know, scared, or on edge, almost all the time. I believe Dr. Brennan was forced to face the possibility of losing you and she is trying to avoid dealing with the issue. Last year when you were shot and she thought you were dead, she behaved similarly. I think if you had not come back when you did, she would have had an emotional breakdown at that point in time. But she was successful at putting the issue on ice until you fell ill with a brain tumor. Now she's losing control of her emotions and fears all over again and this time it's pushing her over the edge."

"Bones? Bones barely has any emotions. How could she have a breakdown?"

"Everyone has emotions. Dr. Brennan is very good at hiding hers, even from herself. She's the best I've ever seen, as a matter of fact. But nobody can do that forever. It was just a matter of time before her repressed emotions eventually became unmanageable."

Booth turned from him, pain shooting across his features. "Did you know she's been drinking?"

"I know she and Angela have been going out for drinks a lot lately. How much has she been drinking?"

"A lot. Enough to have alcohol-induced blackouts. She can't remember what happened last night, for instance, except for bits and pieces."

"You're angry with her," Sweets observed. Booth shook his head, but everything about his stance: the way he held his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, the scowl on his face, his toe restlessly kicking at a broken tile on the floor; it all said otherwise.

Sweets was quiet for a moment, pondering. "I should talk to her."

"Let's go," Booth quickly agreed, turning back in the direction of the ER. Armed with Sweets, maybe he could get to the bottom of this ugly turn of events.

"No, Booth. Alone. You go on up and see how Angela's doing. Let me try to talk to Dr. Brennan. And a word of advice: feel angry, but don't give in to your anger. It may take some time and some hard work, but with the support of you and her friends Dr. Brennan is going to come out of this, I feel sure. Where is she right now?"

"She's being discharged over in the ER. I was going to give her a ride home, but maybe you could, Sweets? I'll come by later, after I check on Angela."

"Sounds good. See you later, then."

Booth took his time finding his way to Angela's hospital room. The problem with Bones occupied his mind so that he could think of little else. Her words echoed through his head; she was afraid he would hate her for having a problem with alcohol. What did Sweets mean by "be angry but don't give in to your anger"? He was really angry with her right now. But he could never hate her. Over the years since they'd started working together, they'd learned to share with one another unreservedly, and the simple truth was she was a part of him. He couldn't imagine living without her in his life. But stomping out of the ER examining room had probably communicated to Bones exactly what she most feared. He groaned softly. Life was suddenly a whole lot more complicated.

Angela was sitting up in bed watching TV with Hodgins when he rounded the corner into her room. Although still hooked up to an IV, she looked alert and comfortable. She burst into a toothy grin at the sight of her favorite FBI agent.

"Booth!" Her voice was weak, but she was definitely going to be fine.

"Hey, there, Angela," Booth said, relieved to see her looking so well. He leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead and squeezed her shoulders.

"You had me worried." He sat down next to Jack. "How long do you have to stay in here?"

"She's getting discharged tomorrow morning," Jack answered for her.

"Jack's going to let me stay at his place until I'm back on my feet," Angela added in a dreamy voice.

"Wait; what's going on here?" Booth gestured between them. Jack and Angela smiled.

"We've been talking, assessing our differences," Jack said. "And we've come to resolution."

"We're not wasting any more time with relationship angst," Angela said. "No regrets, from now on." The look they shared was almost embarrassing for Booth to witness.

"Okay, okay; save it for later," he teased. "Angela, are you up to me asking you a few questions?"

"I don't know, Booth," she hedged, her face growing sad and troubled. "Did you talk to Brennan?"

"I tried. She can't seem to remember much of what happened last night. She knows you got hurt but she doesn't remember how. She must have tried to help you though; she says she remembers getting blood on her hands. She had blood on her hands and clothes when she showed up at my apartment. She said that the two of you had gone to George's for drinks with two guys you met speed dating. What started the fight? Which one of them hurt you? I need names."

Angela's eyes closed and her lips tightened into a thin line. Pale, she sank back into the pillows.

"Who stabbed you, Angela?" Booth asked pointedly.

"Tempe. Tempe stabbed me. Right after she punched out her date and threw a shot glass at the bartender."

_To be continued… soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**Chapter 4: Bones is in Trouble**

Booth felt like he'd been punched in the gut. If it was anybody but Angela, he'd have accused the person of lying. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he jumped to his feet and paced the small hospital room. Angela looked miserable; she was well aware that her words had changed everything for her best friend. But Temperance Brennan needed help and this was the only way to get it for her.

"How?" Booth finally managed to gasp.

"She snapped, Booth. The guys were joking about her job. Our jobs. The general public really doesn't get what we do; you know that, Booth. Brennan had drunk five or six shots of bourbon by then and she was really out of it. Her date made a very crass comment about working with the dead, and Tempe just reached across the bar and grabbed him by the neck. She threw him against the bar. That's when his goon friend decided to step in and defend him. She threw her shot glass at the other guy, missed, and broke the mirror behind the bar. Then all hell broke loose. One of the guys grabbed a knife from behind the bar and swiped Brennan with it. He hit her in the leg and then cut her face. She just went crazy. I thought she was going to kill him. You know Brennan could have killed him, Booth. She can be deadly. I tried to stop her but she got hold of the knife and that's when she stabbed me. But Booth, I don't think she had any idea what she was doing by then. The bartender stepped in to help me and she looked at her hands like they were somebody else's and dropped the knife. The last thing I remember is seeing her run out of the bar. I don't remember anyone trying to stop her, but then again I don't remember much of anything after that. This is all my fault. I just wanted her to loosen up and have a little fun, that's all. She's been so moody lately. I forgot that she really isn't like other people."

Booth, in shock, was still as a statue. Hodgins held Angela's hand and rubbed her back; she was crying by now.

"I'd better get back to her place. Sweets took her home. This means I have to arrest her, don't I?" He asked, horrified.

"You're FBI," Jack said. "This is hardly the FBI's jurisdiction."

"Please, Booth. Can't we keep this quiet, and take care of it ourselves? Can't you talk to her? You and Sweets could get her into some kind of treatment," Angela begged. "Hey, I'll even go with her. This has been a wake-up call for me, too."

"The police are probably already looking for her. The bartender at George's knows all of us and I'm betting he's already reported her by name. I don't want some random cop slapping her in handcuffs and dragging her away. It needs to be me. If I take her in, I can prepare her for what's going to happen. She's going to need a friend."

"More than a friend, Booth. She's going to need you." Angela said shakily.

Booth went back over to Angela and leaned down to give her a careful hug. "I'll call you guys as soon as I have any news," he promised.

"Love you," Angela said quietly.

"You too, Ange. Don't worry. Just get better. I'll be in touch, okay?"

Dr. Lance Sweets caught up with Temperance Brennan just as she was shrugging into her jacket in the ER hallway.

"Dr. Brennan, are you okay?" Sweets asked, coming up beside her and helping her put her other arm into the armhole.

"I just want to go home," she muttered thickly. "My head hurts." Butterfly bandages held the wound on her cheek together. A bruise was beginning to show its colors around the swollen edges.

"Let me drive you home," Sweets offered. Grasping her elbow, relieved when she didn't resist his help, he ushered her out through the ER's sliding doors into the rain.

"Thanks, Sweets."

"I'm parked right over there," he pointed at his red mustang in the Chief Resident's parking spot.

"You're illegally parked," Brennan was helpful enough to point out. Sweets smirked, helped her into the passenger side and fastened her seatbelt for her, once again surprised by her utter passivity as she allowed him to tuck her in and shut the door. Sliding in behind the wheel, he turned on the heat and the defroster full blast. Bones, dressed in damp jeans and a thin T-shirt streaked with rain, was already shivering.

"Booth told me you don't remember much about the events of last night," Sweets commented as he pulled onto the highway.

"You saw Booth? Where?"

"I ran into him in the hospital."

"He's angry with me," Brennan said calmly, as if she was reciting the weather report.

"He'll get over it," Sweets assured her. "So can you tell me what happened?"

"I remember a few things." Her lip jutted out in her "I don't need your soft science psychiatry" pose.

"He also said you've had other episodes of alcohol-induced amnesia," Sweets continued calmly, disregarding her attitude. He knew her well enough to know they would eventually progress beyond it.

"I didn't actually say that."

"Knowing Booth, you didn't have to. He read between the lines."

"Yeah," she acknowledged wryly. "He's good at that." Brennan closed her eyes and slumped into her seat.

"So you've been drinking a lot, so much that you have had multiple blackouts? A blackout being when you don't actually black out, but you can't remember events that happen while you're under the influence." Sweets turned his car slowly and carefully into Bones' parking garage, trying not to upset her more than necessary. She looked nauseous.

"I don't know." She sounded belligerent, something Sweets had dealt with many times in their sessions together.

"Dr. Brennan," he urged softly, putting the Mustang into park and turning off the engine. He turned to face her.

"Okay, yes, I don't remember several other nights out with Angela. But I've always drunk responsibly before this, Sweets. I don't know why I'm doing this. Tell me why I'm doing this," she demanded brokenly.

"Dr. Brennan, I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but it's going to be okay. A lot of people love you and are here for you. I know you don't believe that, but it's true. We'll talk about what happened, about what's going on in your life that could be causing you to behave differently than you have in the past, and we'll figure it out. Come on; let's go inside."

Sweets' cell phone rang before he could open his door. Glancing apologetically at Brennan, he answered.

"Dr. Sweets."

"Uh huh. Yes. What? They are? I see. Where? Okay. Yeah, no problem. I'll meet you there." Hanging up, Sweets refastened his seatbelt, put the key into the ignition and re-started the car.

"What are you doing?" She followed his lead and snapped her seatbelt into place also, but she looked confused.

"That was Booth. There's been a change of plan; we're meeting at his place."

"Why?"

"He says he'll tell us when we get there. Hey, you know Booth; I'm confident there's a good reason."

"You're right. Okay. I was really looking forward to a long hot bath, though."

"Booth's got a tub," Sweets reminded her. "Are you feeling okay, Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm a bit nauseous," she replied, leaning back against the headrest and closing her eyes.

"Hang on; we'll be there in just a few minutes and then you can lie down."

He backed out of the parking spot and drove slowly to the exit. As he pulled the Mustang onto the street, two police cars with lights and sirens blaring pulled into the entrance driving past them. Checking to make sure he wouldn't drive into the path of any other emergency vehicles, Sweets cautiously continued down the road to Booth's neighborhood.

Booth met them in the parking lot behind his building. As soon as Sweets pulled in, Booth was at the passenger side door helping Brennan out. Looking around, he hurried them inside and up the stairs to his apartment. His actions were secretive and agitated.

"Stay awake a little longer, Bones," Booth said as he unlocked the door and ushered them inside. The lights were all on and the coffeepot was in its last few gurgles, having churned out a fragrant pot of fresh coffee.

"I can't drink that," Brennan announced, waving a hand in the direction of the coffee and collapsing into an armchair.

"Water first," Booth told her, handing her a glass of ice water.

"What's going on?" Sweets asked.

"What's going on is Bones has a mother of a hangover and she needs to sleep it off," Booth answered evasively, giving Sweets a loaded glance. Sweets looked confused for a moment, but when he realized that Booth didn't want to talk in front of Brennan, his mouth formed a silent "O".

"Do you mind?" Sweets asked, pointing into the kitchen at the coffeepot.

"Help yourself."

"I don't feel that bad now," Bones said to Booth. But she still looked pale and woozy. Booth pulled her to her feet and walked with her into his bedroom. Inside, he closed the door behind them. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her into a hug, worried about what tomorrow would bring. One thing he was sure of; things were going to get worse for Bones before they got better.

"Booth, are you mad at me? I know you are; I know you're mad at me."

He chuckled. "I'm hugging you and you want to know if I'm mad at you? Wow, you really are terrible at social interactions."

"Yes; I know that. But you were mad at me earlier, back in the ER. And I can tell something's really wrong. And I'm pretty sure it's my fault, whatever it is. I don't know myself any more; I feel so lost."

His arms tightened and he rubbed his cheek on the top of her head.

"I'm sorry. I guess I did get angry, but I'm over it, I promise. I just want to help you, Bones. I'm not mad at you, not at all. I promise you, I'll help you figure this out, okay? But right now, you need to sleep. Trust me on this; I've had hangovers before and you've definitely got one." He brushed the hair off her forehead.

"I'm really sleepy," she admitted. Crawling onto his bed, she snuggled into a pillow and closed her eyes. Booth tucked a blanket around her. He left her water glass sitting on the bedside table. Dimming the lamp, he lingered for a moment gazing down on her still form, wondering for the thousandth time how he could help her handle this mess. He dreaded having to tell her what had really happened in the bar. It was going to kill her.

"Rest. That's an order." She didn't move.

Booth closed the door as quietly as he could and went back to join Sweets in the living room.

"Okay, Booth, do you want to tell me what's going on? What did you mean when you told me on the phone that the police are looking for her?"

Booth sank into the sofa. "Bones is in big trouble."

_To be continued… _

_Thank you for reading and reviewing! Hey I am totally snowed in so I will have time to write today :)-- as long as the power stays on!  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER FIVE: Remembering**

"How long do we have before you have to turn her in?" Sweets asked.

"I'm going to call Caroline first, and discuss it with her. But as soon as she finds out about this she'll want me to turn her over to the police."

"You can't do that to Brennan. She wouldn't understand. It would feel like a betrayal to her; I don't know if she could handle that."

"I know you're right, but I don't see how I have a choice. Sweets, I could lose my job."

Sweets was deep in thought. "I think right now it would detrimental to her emotional state for Dr. Brennan to be put in jail. She's unstable and we don't want to risk any further trauma. Now, I could get her admitted into a psychiatric facility, under my care. That might upset her initially, but it would be better for her than jail. She needs help, not punishment. I've got a friend over at Georgetown Mental Health Institute. Let me make a few phone calls so it's set up by the time her case comes to trial."

Booth looked stunned. "Do you really think she's that bad off?"

"If the alternative is jail, what would you do?"

"Georgetown; that's where Zack is," Booth mused. He shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, let's get on with it. Caroline can pull the right strings and get her committed to your care, Sweets, if it comes to that. I really hope it doesn't." He flipped open his phone.

"Caroline Julian," he requested.

"Caroline, it's Seeley Booth. What's that? You were?"

"What? What?" Sweets demanded in a stage whisper.

"She was expecting my call," Booth hissed, his hand over the phone. "Now hang on."

"You already heard about it? From who? Cam. Of course; Hodgins called her. No, Caroline; technically I haven't heard anything about the police looking for her, so I'm not helping her resist arrest… look, she can't even remember what happened! Okay, "technically" means I haven't talked directly to a law enforcement officer."

When Booth stopped talking and listened, Caroline's voice was loud enough for Sweets to overhear.

"Okay, as soon as she wakes up, I'll do that. But give us a few hours, can you? She's not feeling so well."

More explosive noise from the other end of the phone accosted Sweets' ear. Booth held the phone away for a few seconds and rolled his eyes.

"At least let me tell her what she's being arrested for before I bring her in. Okay. Got it. Thanks, Caroline; I mean it."

He hung up. "She wants me downtown, with Brennan, in two hours."

Exactly an hour and twenty minutes later, Booth shook Brennan awake and led her out to the living room. Sweets was still there; Booth had asked him to remain and help him tell Brennan what had happened at the bar the night before. Taking a deep breath, he took both of Bones' hands in his and sat down with her on the couch.

"What?" She asked.

"Angela told me what happened last night. Bones, what's the last thing you remember?"

She thought for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut, her breath whistling anxiously through her teeth.

"I remember playing darts. I remember going back to the bar to get another round of drinks; we all sat down at the bar and talked to Freddie. Freddie asked how work was going and that got us talking about forensics. I remember… wait, I got angry. I remember that I got angry at my date. He was laughing about dead bodies and I was so angry." She turned red at the memory and clenched her jaw, but she didn't open her eyes.

"That's good, Dr. Brennan," Sweets took over the questioning. "You were so angry that you… did what? What happened next?"

"Something terrible, right? I can't remember. You tell me, Booth. What did I do?" She faced Booth alone as if Sweets wasn't in the room. "Tell me," she said hoarsely.

"You threw a shot glass at the guy. A mirror broke behind the bartender. Do you remember?"

"Y-yes," she said, unsure. Booth grasped her hands tighter and scooted closer to her.

"The guy grabbed a knife from behind the bar," he continued hesitantly, pausing to see if any spark of memory played on Bones' face. For a second, her expression was a blank, but then her mouth opened, her eyes widened and she cried out. The memory was coming back; Booth could see it all over her face. He counteracted her attempt to jump up and leave the room by hauling her into his arms. She stopped resisting as soon as he succeeded in embracing her completely and clung to him like a drowning person.

"I tried to kill him," she hissed, aghast. "I tried to kill a human being."

"Yes, but you didn't hurt him. Angela tried to stop you. She got in the way." Booth held on for what would happen next, when Bones finally got the whole picture.

"Angela!" At that, Bones came apart in his arms, weeping and shaking, desperately grasping at his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder.

"Oh no, oh no," she sobbed against her partner's neck. "What did I do? What have I done?"

"Shh," he soothed. No words could make this better. He comforted her with his hands, his warmth. It was all he knew to do. Sweets waited patiently, his face reflecting the grief Booth felt. After a while Booth eased her away from his chest so he could look into her eyes. The pain he saw there was overwhelming. He hoped his next words wouldn't cause even more grief.

"Temperance. I have to take you into the police department. Caroline Julien is waiting for us there. She's agreed to unofficially advocate for you. I'm sorry, Bones. I'm really sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this, but I do. You understand, right?"

She swayed against him; he caught and held her, his heart breaking. He rubbed her back while she clung to him. Sweets sat waiting silently, knowing she would need space to deal with this information in her own unique way.

"You're not going to do this alone, understand? I'll be with you every step of the way. I swear. All of us will."

Booth tried to keep her in his arms, but all too soon she sat up, straightened her back and struggled to compose herself. Booth watched the familiar pattern he'd seen so many times. Bones slowed her breathing, adopted a calm expression and regarded him with ice cold blue eyes.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

Caroline was waiting for them at the police station. As soon as Booth and Brennan entered the door, a uniformed policeman came up, introduced himself and read her Miranda rights. Booth followed them to a windowless room with a table in the middle. The officer motioned for Brennan to sit down in one of the chairs. Booth sat next to her with Caroline across the table. Bones and Booth didn't have much time to wonder what was going to happen next. Sweets came into the room along with another officer who took the head chair at the table.

"I'm Police of Chief Manse," he introduced himself to Booth and Brennan. "Doctor Brennan, what can you tell me about the events that took place at George's Bar and Grill last night?"

Bones looked at Caroline, who she assumed was acting as her defense attorney. Caroline nodded for her to go ahead.

"My friend Angela Montenegro and I met two men for drinks at 9 PM last night."

"What were their names?"

"One was David, and the other I'm not sure. You don't share last names in speed dating until you're sure you are ready for that step of trust."

"You only know one of the men's names, and that is David—no last name," the officer repeated.

"I had this in my pocket, though." She fished out the crumpled five dollar bill with the name "Marcus" on it beside a phone number. The officer took it and almost smiled. He handed the bill to another officer.

"Enter this into evidence and find out whose number that is," he said quietly.

"I don't remember much about last night, but I remember we got into an argument and the man, the one whose name I don't know, picked up a knife and threatened my friend and me."

"What happened next?"

"I don't actually remember that part," Brennan said. She chanced a quick glance at Booth. His eyes were steady and warm.

"But Agent Booth talked to Angela in the hospital. She told him that I—I stabbed her with the knife after beating up the guy and taking his knife away. But I could never hurt Angela. At least, I hope I could never hurt her," her voice trailed away.

"Eye witnesses confirm you stabbed her with a knife. It has also been reported that you were under the influence of alcohol and not in control of your faculties. Ms. Montenegro has declined to press charges. But wielding a deadly weapon in a public place with intent to do bodily harm is considered assault in the second degree. It's a felony, Dr. Brennan. Are you certain that you can't remember anything about the incident?"

"Just a few images. Images that didn't make sense until today."

"What is Dr. Brennan's bail posted for?" Caroline asked. She gave Brennan a "stop talking now… we'll talk soon" glare.

"She'll have to stay in jail until bail is determined by the judge."

"When will that happen?" Booth demanded sharply. He grasped Bones' hand in a protective gesture.

"Within the hour, I would expect. When we get the call, we'll tell you first thing, Agent Booth. But for now, I have to take her into custody."

Booth began to protest again; he'd just promised Bones he'd stay with her every step of the way and here he was already being forced to break his promise. But Bones stood quietly and stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"It's okay, Booth. I'm fine with it. This is the process I have to go through. Can you go get my checkbook? It's in my desk drawer, the one on the left. The keys to the house are in my purse in your car."

"Sure, Bones. I'll go get it." He began to move toward the exit when Caroline stopped him.

"The clerk won't take a check. You'll need a money order from the bank," Caroline informed them drily. "Don't worry, Cherie. When we hear from the judge later on today, I'll post your bail. You can pay me back. I know you're good for it."

"Thanks, Caroline," Brennan said. She turned to Booth.

"Thanks Booth; for everything. I know this has been really hard on you." She looked miserable; the knowledge that she had caused him pain was almost too much to bear. She and the bailiff began to walk away.

"Booth, there's a case that just came in… I know this is a bad time, but while we're waiting for the Judge to set bail, do you think you could go over the facts with me?" Caroline was holding a file.

Booth glanced at his partner as she was led away by the bailiff. He waited until he lost sight of Bones before answering Caroline.

"Sure, why not. Murderers don't take a break; why should we?" He sat down next to her and listened while she ran over the new case.

"This is Richie Bauman," she said, handing him a black and white photo.

"I remember this guy. The FBI has been looking for him in connection to a series of rapes up and down I-81. He's a trucker, right?"

"He posed as a trucker. Didn't actually work as one. He hasn't been seen or heard from since he went on the FBI's wanted criminals list. Two days ago an alleged kidnapping victim turned herself into the Staunton Police Department; claims to have been abducted by him and got away. She took police to the scene where she was held hostage and they found human remains."

"One body? More than one?"

"Definitely more than one. I want you down there by tomorrow afternoon. Take a forensics expert from the Jeffersonian with you to recover the remains."

Booths heart sank. Caroline saw his face fall and put her hand on his knee.

"I know you would prefer to have Dr. Brennan. I'll tell you what. She's not allowed to leave the city while she's out on bail, but I don't see why she couldn't, let's say, 'visit' the Jeffersonian when you bring the remains back."

Booth grinned and his eyes lit up. He gave a decidedly uncomfortable Caroline Julian an enthusiastic hug.

"All right!"

_To be continued…_

_Author's notes: Thanks to all who have taken the time to review "Drinking Buddies". I LOVE getting feedback __!! There is one more chapter already written that needs editing , but after that I have to get writing. I will be spending the day digging out of the two feet of snow we received from Mother Nature yesterday. So the next update will not be as speedy as the last few have been. Hey, hit the review button and inspire me! Cabin fever! My prayers go out to those who lost power in the storm. To 'Los Angeles': Just knowing there's a warm, sunny place somewhere is awesome._


	6. Chapter 6

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 6: The Judge Rules  
**

_Author's Note: Finally ready to post! Hope you like where this is going…_

On the day of the sentencing hearing, Booth showed up early at Brennan's front door. He had only seen her a few times since last week when he'd turned her into the police. First, he'd spent a couple days in Staunton recovering remains with Wendell. The intern was very good, one of the best the Jeffersonian had employed since Zack, but he wasn't Bones. As soon as he'd returned to D.C., Booth had gone to Brennan's home and cajoled her into coming to work.

Even though she'd been reluctant to come in, as soon as she saw the remains she went into the "zone". Booth was thrilled to see her back in her element. Within two days she, Angela and Wendell had been able to identify and give him cause of death on all three victims, all women in their twenties, and pinpoint exactly what murder weapon the killer had used. But there were no clues on the whereabouts of Bauman. He was still out there, and unless they could catch him it was certain that he would find more victims. Booth was determined to get him.

Then yesterday, she hadn't even answered his calls, instead letting them go into her voicemail. He wasn't sure what state of mind Brennan would be in when he got to her apartment.

"Good morning, Booth," she greeted him when she finally opened the door. "I'm not quite ready to leave yet."

"Well, I'm early," he said with a grin he hoped would put her more at ease. "Got coffee?"

"Sure; help yourself." Brennan retreated to the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out she was carrying her toothbrush case and a small pink cosmetics case. She put them down on the coffee table and unzipped the pink bag, checking through the contents. When she seemed satisfied that she had everything she might need, she zipped it up again.

Booth brought his black coffee back out to the living room and sat down on the couch next to an overnight bag that was packed full. Holding the steaming cup between his hands, he pointed at the bag and the items on the coffee table.

"What's this?"

"Caroline said there's a good chance I'll be put in a short-term treatment program or psychiatric facility. She's going to use my uh, so-called unstable emotional state, to keep me out of jail."

"With your clean record, the Judge will most likely put you on probation, "Booth said encouragingly.

"Don't minimize what I did. I should be prepared for all possible outcomes."

She had wandered to the bar, where she picked up a clean shot glass and turned it back and forth in her hand. Booth walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. With his face snuggling against her soft hair, he looked over her shoulder. The glass bar shelves were bare, save for clean stemware and glasses.

"You've stopped drinking," he said, although it was a statement and a question at the same time.

"I'm trying, but it's been difficult," she whispered, turning her face so their cheeks touched. "It's been a tough week. I had no idea I was drinking that much, until I stopped."

"Headaches, the shakes, feeling like crap…?"

She nodded. "For a genius, I've sure been acting stupid," she admitted, leaning back against his sturdy frame. "Booth? If I don't come back here right away… if I go to jail… could you keep an eye on my house and pick up my mail?"

"I can do that. Except I highly doubt they'll throw you in jail."

"Booth, what do you really think the judge will decide? What are my chances?"

"Actually, there is a slight chance you'll do jail time. On the books second degree assault is seven years. But the most likely outcome is the judge will use his discretion; he has a lot of options to choose from."

"Such as?"

"He may substitute rehab, for whatever length of time he determines, along with parole and maybe community service. With Caroline intervening on your behalf, with your own record being clean, with all that you've done for the FBI, I don't think there's much chance you'll get put in jail. But they'll ask Sweets for his professional opinion on your emotional state. If he believes you are experiencing a mental health crisis, well, you could be looking at some time in Georgetown."

She shuddered. "I can't do that," she murmured. Booth turned her around to face him, pulled her close and hugged her thoroughly.

"I know, Bones," he agreed, holding her securely, unable for the moment to let her go. "If there's anything I can do to keep that from happening, I'll do it."

"We might be late if we don't leave soon," she reminded him.

"I know." But he still didn't let go. Gaining confidence when he didn't release her right away, Brennan's hands ran up his back and she returned his embrace with a surprising amount of strength.

"Booth. I know I've hurt you. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. When you left me in the ER, I was afraid you'd given up on me."

"Apology accepted." He released her then and leaned back, their hands still resting on the other's waist. "You know, later that night, it occurred to me that I'm as much of an alcoholic as my father, and there I was getting angry at you like I was the better person."

"But you're not. You've never drunk much, Booth," she protested.

"Not alcohol. I've never let myself drink a lot because I didn't want to become like my father. So instead, I gambled myself into huge debt. I was addicted to gambling just as much as he was addicted to alcohol. But for some stupid reason, I thought gambling was better than drinking. I realized the other night, after I got angry with you at the hospital, that I was no better than him. Maybe worse; I'd just walked out on the most important person in my life."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Booth affirmed with a grin. "I shouldn't have walked away. I'm not giving up on you, got it? From now on, we're in this together, no matter what. Deal?"

"Deal. Thanks, Booth. I really needed to hear you say that. And you're wrong about your father. From everything I've learned about how he treated you and your brother, you are a much better man than he was."

"Thanks, Bones. I guess I needed to hear that, too. Look; it's time to go," Booth said, glancing at the clock above the stove.

"Okay. But wait," Brennan said.

"What?"

Serious blue eyes met his. She reached up and held his face between her hands. Her thumbs caressed his temples while she stared at him adoringly. It was as if she was memorizing his face. Booth let her take her time even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was doing and welcomed it wholeheartedly. Slowly she closed the distance between them until he felt her warm lips barely touching his. She stopped right there, hovering, her soft breath tickling his mouth, waiting for his reaction. Even now, she was still unsure of him and of his feelings for her, he realized with a jolt. He made a mental note to correct that misconception as soon and as completely as possible. Forcing himself to stand still, he allowed her to decide what to do next, for he knew she had precious little control over much of anything in her life right now. But even more, he wanted to see where she was willing to take this; how much of her feelings she was willing to reveal to him. She needed to take a chance, to come out of her self-imposed shell, to step beyond her belief that there was no such thing as love, and he wasn't going to push her at all. This was her call.

He forgot all his noble convictions as soon as she sealed her lips to his. It was the best kiss he'd ever experienced. Opening his mouth to hers, they explored one another with an intensity that threatened to blow his mind. The last time he'd kissed her, under the mistletoe with Caroline Julien pushing them into it, he'd been taken by surprise at how much it had affected him. But this kiss went way beyond that. It just confirmed what he had known all along: they were meant for each other.

Easing off by degrees, he had to hold himself back when she pulled away. Her eyes shone with love and tears.

"Well," Booth said when he could speak, "I guess that changed a few things."

"I love you, Booth," she whispered.

"You love me? And this would be the kind of love that is just a collection of hormones and brain chemicals firing?"

She chuckled. "This is me telling you I love you. From my heart."

"And that would be the organ in your chest filled with blood that—"

"No, my other heart," she said. "The symbolic one."

"Well, in that case, I love you too, Bones. With all my heart."

"I love that you call me Bones," she said, her fingers playing with his collar.

"You used to hate it."

"Yes; well, that was a long time ago, and now it's your nickname for me, and I love it."

"I'm glad," Booth said, smiling warmly and marveling at the change in her demeanor. Her face reflected strength and self-confidence; a lot like the old Bones he hadn't seen for a while. It thrilled him to realize he had helped her find that again. She took a deep breath.

"I'm ready to go see the judge now."

"Yeah. We gotta go."

Booth picked up her bag. Ever the protector, he gave her a warning look when she started to protest that she could carry it herself. They found their way to Booth's car in the parking garage and he drove her downtown.

The meeting with the judge took less than an hour. Caroline Julien and Lance Sweets met them there and, with the Judge, walked Brennan through the legal process. She was waiting in the hall now, huddled on an uncomfortable wood bench next to the water fountain, waiting for Booth and Caroline to come out of the Judge's Chambers with his sentencing ruling. That's when she would find out the consequences she would be required to face for the events of that awful night at George's. A bailiff stood about ten feet away keeping a stern gaze fixed on her as if he feared she was going to make a break for it if he turned his back on her for a second.

Brennan uncrossed her legs and adjusted her position again, though the new position wasn't any better than the last, just different. Just when she thought she couldn't stand the suspense for one more minute, the door in front of her cracked open and Sweets slipped out. He seemed to be making an effort not to make any noise; she concluded that negotiations behind the closed door were still ongoing.

"How are you doing, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets greeted her. He leaned against the wall between her bench and the water fountain.

"I'm not sure. I came out here because I needed to be by myself. Except I'm not actually by myself," she said, nodding in the direction of the bailiff's imposing presence.

"Actually, you should come back in now. The judge wants to talk to you."

Brennan swallowed a lump in her throat and followed Sweets in through the door and across the dimly lit room where she could see Booth, Caroline Julian, and a sour-faced middle-aged man still deep in discussion. The conversation stalled out when she approached. Booth came up to her immediately.

"Why did you leave?" He whispered. Although the judge had allowed her to go outside when she'd asked for a break to use the restroom, it was highly irregular behavior for an accused felon to walk out during her sentencing hearing. But Brennan had never behaved like the rest of the world anyway. Booth was worried though; what if the judge saw it as further evidence of emotional instability?

"Welcome back, Dr. Brennan. Your colleagues and I have been discussing your case, and I've come to a decision. That is, if you'd like to hear it." The judge raised an eyebrow; her absence for the last fifteen minutes had not gone unnoticed. Booth closed his eyes and quelled the wave of anxiety in his stomach.

"Yes, of course, Judge. Sorry about that," she added, waving at the doors behind her. "I didn't feel very well."

"That's understandable, considering what you're going through," the judge admitted gently. Now Caroline raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked at Booth. They both knew this judge didn't do "gentle" well. Hope that he would be lenient with her began to bloom inside Booth.

"Your actions at George's Bar and Grill are considered assault in the second degree which is a felony. However, based on your good record, your considerable contributions to law enforcement, and your lack of intent to do harm to Ms. Montenegro, I am putting you on parole for a period of one year and requiring that you attend a program designed for rehabilitation from alcohol addiction three times a week. Your parole officer will need proof of attendance in the form of your instructor's signature at your weekly parole meetings. You are also required to perform 60 hours of community service. Violation of these conditions will result in you being committed to the care of Dr. Lance Sweets at the Georgetown Mental Health Facility for a period no less than three months full-time and nine months as an out-patient during which you will meet weekly with your psychiatrist. This hearing is adjourned."

Cracking his gavel on the desk, the judge rose and shook hands with Caroline, Sweets, and Booth. He paused when he got to Bones.

"You have some very loyal and loving friends, Dr. Brennan. You should consider yourself blessed. Don't betray their faith in you."

When the judge had left the court room, Brennan dared to smile. Booth grinned and slapped a hand on his knee.

"Bones, this is great! Now you can come to the Jeffersonian this afternoon and we can work on this Staunton Killer case some more. So, hey! What do you say?"

"What is a "program designed for rehabilitation from alcohol addiction"?" She asked instead.

"There are several, the most well-known of which is AA, or Alcoholics Anonymous," Sweets said.

"Where do they meet?"

"Lots of places. I can take you to the one I used to attend," Booth offered. Bones, Sweets and Caroline Julien all looked at him, surprised.

"What do you mean; you used to attend one of these rehabilitation programs?" Bones asked.

"AA isn't just for alcoholics. They deal with any and all addictions. Like gambling. I should really go back anyway; I only went twice because Pops made me go. It's possible I may still have a thing or two to learn, so I'll go with you for a few meetings, if you like."

"Okay. I would like that."

Booth smiled at her but inside his anxiety went through the roof. The last place he wanted to go was to a touchy-feely meeting where he'd have to reveal his personal issues to a roomful of strangers.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**Chapter 7: A New Start**

"Umm, hello, my name is Temperance Brennan, and I am—I am an alcoholic."

"Hi, Temperance," the room chanted.

She sat down on a folding chair next to Booth with a sigh of relief and an expression on her face akin to triumph. Booth gazed at her proudly, knowing how hard that had been for her to admit out loud. Then he groaned inwardly and stood up to face his own demons.

"Yeah, hi there—my name is Seeley Booth, and I used to gamble." The last half of his statement came out fast and garbled.

"So," the moderator interrupted, "you have a gambling addiction?" The man running the meeting had neatly combed brown hair, large, hazel eyes not unlike a hound dog's, and a distinguished looking double chin. With his paisley bowtie and corduroy jacket, he could have been teaching a course at American University. His voice was soothing and serious, the kind that automatically inspired confidence. At his comment, the circle of people in the meeting fastened their eyes on Booth, politely waiting for him to correct his misstatement.

"I guess. Yeah. Gambling addiction," He mumbled and reclaimed the seat next to Bones.

"Hi everyone, I'm truly honored to be here. Um… my name is Angela Montenegro and I am a sex addict."

Fast as lightning, she ducked her head and sat down on the other side of Booth.

"What?" He hissed behind his hand at her. Booth looked around and was amazed at the casual acceptance he saw in the wake of Angela's announcement.

"That's what Sweets told me to say," she whispered back. She shooed him away with her hand.

"Welcome to one and all, our regulars and our first time attendees," the professor look-alike greeted everyone. Today's meditation will be delivered by our own Fran Walker, who has completed the twelve steps and is facilitating a small group that will start today with step one."

"Hello, Fran," the attendees droned in unison.

"Hello, friends and fellow travelers on this journey we all share. I am reading today from the poetry of…"

"All I hear is "blahblahblah," Angela whispered in Booth's ear.

"Tell me about it," he whispered back. Bones shushed them with a frown. She then turned and listened intently to the speaker. After a moment, Angela leaned over to Booth again.

"Do we have to go to different small groups after this poetry reading?"

"Well, seeing as Brennan and I are not sex addicts, I would say "yes"," Booth pointed out.

"I'm not really a—never mind. Then you and Tempe will be in different groups too?"

"Yeah; you're right," Booth whispered, frowning. He hadn't really thought that one through until Angela brought it up. So, volunteering to support Bones had morphed into attending a subgroup for recovering gamblers, all alone. Crap.

"Thank you for your attention. Remember to take each day as it comes; see you next meeting." Fran stepped away from the mike amid polite applause.

"We will now have a ten minute coffee break before reporting to small groups," the professor dude announced.

"Does anyone want coffee? Wow, totally gorgeous hunk-a-man at four o'clock," Angela reported.

"Angela, try to remember what you just said you're here for. I want coffee; come on." Booth took Bones by the elbow and hooked his other arm through Angela's so he could steer them both toward the refreshment table.

"That was an excellent poem," Bones mused.

"You listened to it?" Booth and Angela asked in unison.

"Of course. You mean you didn't? It was very meaningful. Would you like me to recite it?"

"No," they both said quickly, knowing Brennan, with her incredible memory, could easily carry out her threat. She pouted.

"I'm sure it was great, Bones," Booth assured her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. He really didn't like to see her unhappy for any reason. "You can tell me about it later. Now let's have some coffee and munchies."

The moderator was back at the mike as the attendees mingled throughout the large meeting room.

"If you are starting in a small group today, please meet as follows: For those with food addictions, Room 101 with Gillian Babcock; for those conquering sexual addictions go to Room 103 with Dr. Lance Sweets, and for alcohol and all other addictions, meet Fran Walker in Room 105."

"Sweets?" Angela blurted, outraged. "Sweets is facilitating the sex addictions group? No wonder he told me to say that! He knew I'd be assigned to his group. That little weasel!"

"Have fun, Ange," Booth laughed. She threw her bag on her shoulder and sauntered off, eyeing hunk-a-man as she went.

"Come on Booth, we're in the same group. Let's go. Bring your coffee and all those donuts you took. That's not good for you, you know." Brennan put a hand on his arm to prevent him from picking up a fourth donut. He dropped it back on the plate and, balancing his remaining donuts on top of his coffee, walked toward their assigned room with her.

"Whoa; for a minute there I was worried I'd have to go to a gambling group all by myself," a relieved Booth confided.

"I guess there aren't that many compulsive gamblers here. At any rate, you did say you are as much of an alcoholic as your father. I guess this group will help you deal with two issues at once."

"Right," he said grumpily. He gave her an irritated glance before deciding to drop it. The main meeting took place in an unused chapel that was off to the side of the sanctuary. The chapel was simply furnished with padded folding chairs and a metal folding table laden with food, coffee, tea selections and water. The walls were full of intricate stained glass windows, radiating beauty and peace. Room 101, 103 and 105 were all in a row down a hall that led away from the chapel, in the Children's Wing of St. Benedictine Catholic Church, a stately old stone building where the AA meetings were held on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday nights.

The classrooms were more utilitarian. In Room 105 Booth slipped into a child-sized desk that was too small for him and grunted when his knees got stuck. Brennan sat at the desk in front of him. Booth leaned forward, experimenting to see if he could easily whisper in her ear during the group time. The whole desk came off the floor with his legs and then loudly clattered back down. He looked guiltily in the direction of the front of the room; sure enough, Fran Walker was craning her neck in his direction trying to see what had happened.

"Uh, sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. Maybe whispering in Bones' ear throughout the session would not be possible after all. Brennan took a moment to turn around and pat his forearm; she felt his pain.

"Welcome to Step One. This is the beginning of a personal journey of discovery that will continue for the rest of your life. My name is Fran and I am a recovering alcoholic. AA was founded on 12 principles, all of which you will be at least somewhat familiar with by the end of our time together. This week we are concentrating on the first principle: we admit that our lives have become unmanageable and that we are powerless over alcohol, narcotics, compulsive gambling; you fill in the blank with your particular addiction. Addictions are illnesses. We can't cure ourselves and the first step to getting well is to admit our powerlessness."

Fran walked around the room, gazing at each attendee in turn. There were eight people in the room including Booth and Bones. They all looked equally suspicious of their new facilitator. Fran, however, was not bothered by their guarded stares. After circling the room, she returned to the front and faced them.

"Today we will not be sharing our stories. But I would like to hear your thoughts on this first principle, which we in AA call Step One. So let me ask you a question. How do you feel about the concept that you are powerless over your addiction? In what ways have you tried to manage your life on your own? How are you doing with that?"

"That is three questions," Bones turned around and said to Booth. He smothered a laugh with his hand. Then his eyes widened with apprehension when she turned back around to face Fran Walker and raised her slender hand.

"Yes?" The facilitator seemed overjoyed to have a volunteer this early in the meeting.

"I don't understand how admitting to a state of powerlessness will help me accomplish anything," Bones stated clearly. Fran's mouth fell open and she looked momentarily at a loss. Booth's head fell to the desk in front of him. If nothing else, the next few months in these meetings would not be boring with Temperance Brennan here.

Fran, however, rallied quickly. "I agree. It does seem like a contradiction. However, it is in admitting our powerlessness over our situation that we can begin to see how we got into our predicament in the first place. Perhaps you chose to have a drink or two. But I'm willing to bet you did not choose to become an alcoholic. Didn't I hear you introduce yourself as an alcoholic earlier this evening?"

"Yes, I did," Bones allowed. "You're right. I didn't plan on becoming an alcoholic. Since I don't know how I got there, I will concede that there may be some limited merit to the idea that I was powerless to help myself, at least for a temporary amount of time."

"If you will also concede to keep an open mind through our exploration of the twelve step process, I promise you will find the strength to stay sober." Fran waited until Bones nodded and then she went on with the discussion.

"Bones," Booth hissed in her ear from behind.

"I'm trying to listen," she protested quietly.

"What are you doing after this?" Booth was persistent.

"Come home with me? I have… herbal tea," she whispered. Booth grinned widely and leaned back in his little desk chair, at peace with the world. He didn't hear another word.

_More self-discovery and murder-solving ahead…_


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes: Wow, I didn't know our favorite characters had so many issues. And all with a serial killer on the loose… _

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 8: Late Night **

It was around 11 P.M. by the time they got to Brennan's home after the end of the AA meeting. They'd left Angela and Sweets having an intense discussion outside in the church parking lot. In the meeting, Angela had announced herself as a sex addict because it amused her; Sweets on the other hand had thought for some time now that she had a serious problem with intimacy commitment. Walking to the car Booth and Bones steered clear of their loud discussion, but they couldn't help hearing a few heated comments between their two coworkers.

"You manipulated me into being in your group!"

"So, quit," Sweets goaded her, right in her face, his dark eyes blazing.

"I'm here to support Brennan! You knew that and took advantage of it!"

"I simply think you have room to grow in the area of intimate relationships, Angela. Your long and varied list of sexual escapades is your way of avoiding making a meaningful commitment to one person."

"Escapades? Escapades? Sweets, you're outrageous! And you're wrong!"

"I think she's attracted to him," Booth quipped as they quickly made their getaway.

When they got to her place, Brennan went straight into the kitchen after throwing her coat on a chair. Booth lost no time finding a hockey game on television and collapsed on the sofa. Kicking his shoes off he put up his feet, dressed in a colorful pair of socks, on a pile of Scientific Americans—what Brennan called her "light reading".

"I have lemon zinger, red zinger, mint medley, chamomile… what do you want?" She called from the kitchen.

"I want a bourbon and coke," Booth said without thinking.

"Well, so do I, but I don't think that would be a good idea," Bones replied.

Realizing his blunder, Booth turned off the television, got to his feet and joined Bones in the kitchen. She had just turned on the gas and placed a bright copper kettle on the flame. A basket full of various tea bags sat on the counter and she was picking through her cabinet for mugs. Booth leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

"Sorry, Bones. Not drinking is going to take some getting used to, for both of us," he observed.

"I still don't think I agree with cutting off all alcohol completely. Why can't I just learn how to drink in moderation?"

Booth was silent for a moment, lost in thought. He picked up a tea bag and played with the paper wrapper.

"Booth? Is something bothering you? Because you get quiet and fiddle with whatever is in your hands when something's bothering you."

"I was just thinking back to when I was a kid, before my Dad left. He used to say he could handle his liquor; that he knew when to stop. But you know what? He never knew when to stop. One drink was too much for him because it made the next one that much easier."

"I'm not like that. I know when to stop." Booth raised an eyebrow and waited for her to realize the lie in what she'd just said.

"Well, I guess it's worth a try," she amended. "You've never really talked about your father with me. Is he still alive?"

"I don't know. It's not likely. He probably drank himself to death years ago. I never saw him again. Pops never heard from him after he left, either."

The kettle began to sing, and Bones turned off the stove. Taking Booth's already opened teabag from his fingers, she brewed him a mug of lemon tea and sweetened it with two spoonfuls of sugar. Using the same teabag, she made herself a slightly weaker cup. Booth followed her into the living room and they sat down close together on the couch.

"I don't remember much from back then. Maybe that's good; I don't know. I get the hazy impression that Jared and I were scared most of the time."

"Your Pops told me…" Bones stopped short, not sure he was ready to hear what she knew.

"Pops? He told you about my childhood?"

"Well, a little bit," she hedged, swirling her tea around in the cup.

"What did he tell you?" Booth put down his cup and turned toward her more fully. His face was a mixture of curiosity and dread. Try as she could, she was unable to discern his feelings; she could only hope she wasn't going to hurt him unnecessarily. Bones stared at his features as if she were trying to decipher a foreign language.

"I don't think I should tell you."

"Hey, you brought it up. What did he say?"

She was beginning to wish she hadn't brought it up. "He said your father got worse after your mother died. He beat you and Jared, but you protected your brother, and being the oldest, you caught the brunt of it. He said that he tried to stay out of it but he couldn't stand seeing you two boys being abused day after day. He said you would call him on the phone and would ask him to come over sometimes, when it got really bad, so that he would step in between you and your Dad. He also said he was afraid your father was going to really hurt you one day. He said…"

"Yeah, I get it," Booth interrupted. She looked for his reaction. Booth's eyes had closed and his teeth were clenched on his lower lip. When Bones tentatively touched the side of his face, he jerked away and opened his eyes, struggling to appear unaffected.

"What did he say about why my father left? It was because of me, wasn't it? I hit my father that night. I hit him with something hard, and it made him bleed. A wooden board, maybe? I can't remember. I remember I wouldn't let him hit Jared and I tried to stop him by fighting him. Oh, God."

Booth began to tremble. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest to try and stop the shaking. His expressive eyes unfocused and staring, he was no longer in the present with Bones; he was back there, in that dirty row house in Philly, a child trying to be a man and defend his little brother.

"He didn't leave because of you," Bones said, raising a hand to reach out to him again and then dropping it back in her lap. She wasn't sure where to go from here; she didn't know what to do for her hurting partner.

"How do you know that?" He demanded without looking at her.

"Pops told me what happened. He said he'd wanted to tell you before, but he didn't want you to hate him."

"I could never hate Pops. He saved me and Jared. I love Pops, and nothing will ever change that."

"He was afraid that if you knew the truth of what he said and did to your father, you would feel differently."

"Bones, what are you talking about? What did Pops say?"

"He said it was his fault your father left. He told me that he forced your father to leave you and Jared. He told him to leave and never come back, to never contact you or your brother again. He disowned your father. He said he did it for you because your father came close to killing you the night Pops threw him out. Booth, he's so proud of you, of how you grew up to be such a good man. And you are a good man; the best I've ever known."

Booth held his head in his hands. He was still shaking. After a moment he jumped to his feet and strode to the window. Bones watched him anxiously, wondering what to do. She'd never seen Booth like this before. After a long silence during which all she heard was his tortured breathing, he turned around.

"I remember some of that night," he said. "My Dad had found a leather strap out on the street. It was bigger and heavier than a belt, and he thought it looked like a good spanking tool I guess. He came in drunk, determined to try out that strap on us. I don't remember what happened after that, except Pops was there with us in the house at some point yelling at my father. All these years, I thought I did something to drive him away. But you're saying…"

"I'm saying it was your Pops' choice. It wasn't you. You were only a kid, Booth; how could it have been your fault?"

She stood up and slowly walked over to where he stood, forehead leaning against the windowpane looking out over the dark city street. Hoping she was doing the right thing, remembering what Pops had said Booth would need from her, she nestled in between him and the windowsill and pulled him into her arms. Pops was right. It was the right thing; he crumbled into her embrace and held onto her with iron strength.

"It wasn't Pops fault. My father shouldn't have done the things he did. He shouldn't have done that to Jared and me."

"You're right, Booth," she encouraged him. "When I was in foster care, I used to feel like everything was my fault. You and Sweets, you helped me to understand that when you're a kid, the adults in your life are supposed to take care of you. You shouldn't feel bad for trying to step in and take care of yourself when they don't. It was your father's failure, not yours."

She urged him to walk, one slow step at a time, back to the couch. By the time they'd settled down together Booth was fighting tears.

"I think you need to cry," she whispered, giving him permission to let go. Her hands rubbed circles on his tense back and shoulder muscles. So slowly it was hard to pinpoint when it happened, he began to shudder with silent sobs, scaring her. Brennan held him with desperate strength.

"Booth, are you okay?" She asked in a panicky tone.

"No," he choked out, "but I will be. I know you Bones; you're not sure if you did the right thing telling me this, because you don't trust yourself with people. Trust yourself on this one; I needed to hear it."

"But you're so upset," Bones said, her eyes filling with sympathy tears. "And it's because of what I said to you."

"Pops was right. I needed you to tell me, and then to be here for me. It's funny, Bones. I already knew; I'd just forgotten, until tonight."

He took a deep breath, blew it out, and gently pulled out of her arms. He stoically wiped the tears off his cheeks with the palms of his hands.

"It's late. I should go."

"Stay," Bones blurted out. "I don't think you should be alone tonight."

Unsure, Booth looked over at her sitting beside him.

"Thanks, Bones. I want to, but I have to be in early tomorrow. We're going to West Virginia to check out a lead on the suspect in this serial killer case. But," he continued, seeing how worried she was over him, "I guess I could set an alarm."

"Good; that's settled. Booth," she frowned, "who's your partner now?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you are. But Scanlan is going with me tomorrow since you can't leave town while you're on parole. I've worked with him before; he's reliable. I'll call you and let you know what we find out." He had to smile at the relief that washed across his partner's face. She stood up and held out a hand.

"Come to bed."

The next morning came far too quickly. The alarm jolted him from a deep sleep at 5 A.M. and he staggered to the bathroom and then to the living room to retrieve his coat and shoes. Darting into the kitchen he opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of orange juice. He drank two swigs from the carton. As he was wiping his mouth, he felt her presence behind him.

"I have glasses, you know," she said. "Be careful today, Booth. I won't be there to cover you."

He turned and drank in the picture she made in her bare feet and pink silk robe. He couldn't help smiling like a love-struck kid.

"Want some?" He held out the carton.

"I guess I might as well." She took a few sips from the carton too. "This is actually a very efficient way to have breakfast," she noted.

"I gotta run," he said sadly. "I'll call you."

"Will you be back in time for the meeting tonight?" She asked hopefully.

"There's another meeting?" Booth looked surprised.

"Well, the terms of my parole say I have to go three times a week for six months."

"Wow. What's there to talk about three times a week? Tell you what. If I'm back in town in time I'll meet you there, okay?" He pulled her into a hug; the habit was already becoming delightfully familiar to both of them.

"Okay. I'll be looking for you."

"I'll call you and let you know," he repeated. They both knew how unpredictable a murder investigation could be. Both of them had worked through the night on occasion when they were deep in the throes of cracking a particular case.

"I wish I could go with you," she lamented. His eyes filled with longing. He tilted her chin up so he could claim her lips. One kiss turned into a series of leisurely open-mouthed caresses. Soon they were breathing fast. Booth pulled away first and held her still with his hands cupping her face.

"I wish I could stay."

_Well, there's my take on how Brennan begins to help Booth face his past...To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 9: Thoughts of a Killer**

_Author's Notes: Hopefully you didn't notice that Chapter 7 and Chapter 8 were dropped for a while- somehow I messed up uploading the new chapter but I think it's all put back right now! Let me know if you have trouble reading the chapters in order. An alert reader noticed I had Bones introduce herself at the AA meeting in chapter 7 as "Temperance Booth"- oops! I have since changed it to Temperance Brennan… but maybe SOMEDAY! Now on to Chapter 9: here's a darker perspective on what's going on…_

_CHAPTER 9 ~ ~ ~  
_

_There she is. She and her new lover have finally emerged from their little love nest. Slut. She probably met him speed dating, too. These women deserve their fate. They strut their stuff in front of every available man and then, when he shows interest, they laugh in his face. Look at her; she's in the middle of the parking garage in her robe and slippers. Indecent. Immoral. Unworthy._

_Of course, she didn't laugh at me like the others. She got mad at me. I was just trying to have a little fun, that's all. To tell you the truth, I found her job curiously intriguing. She examines bones of murder victims, finds out how they died, where they died, and how long they've been dead. Our roles are poetically intertwined: I remove the unworthy from among the living; she restores the dead their lost faces, gives them back their identities._

_But as mesmerizing and lyrical as her work may be, it doesn't excuse the evil she visits on those around her. I knew right away she couldn't be allowed to live. She was just like the others; flirting, drinking, playing with my feelings, laughing at me behind my back. She drank the glasses of liquor and the sedative I slipped in along with it. She should have been easy to tear away from her friend._

_Angela. Her friend's name was Angela. It should have been Interference. Kind of has a harmonic ring with Temperance. Imagine; a woman named Temperance who drinks like a fish. Anyway, I was getting somewhere with Temperance. She got up, incandescently angry, and threw a glass at me, and I was dazzled. I knew she was my next lady—then Interference jumped up and ruined everything. She saw what I was going to do._

_She's walking him to his car, talking, smiling, laughing. Look at the way she hangs on him. She's making me crazy, sauntering around in that satin robe. I hate her and all of her kind. By wiping her kind out I'm doing the rest of humanity a service._

_I still can't figure out how her friend saw the knife. I thought I'd pulled it out from behind the bar so secretly. And I had it hidden under my coat. I was just going to use it to threaten her, to make her leave with me, quietly. Until Interference had to squeal about the knife. I'm going to take of Interference too. Each one at the right time. Although maybe I don't have to; could anything have been more stunning than watching the evil one accidentally stab her friend?_

_I have never seen a woman as quick as Temperance. She is as fast as a black belt, as strong as a samurai; lethal poetry on long legs. It was as if the drugs I'd slipped in her drink had no effect on her; quick as a flash of lightning, she kicked me in the groin, then in the hand holding the knife. She caught the knife in mid-air! When I saw her do that, I loved her and despised her in the same instant._

_Now he's kissing her. She's already got her claws in him. Beautiful slut. They've been intimate; it's so obvious in every move. It's exciting; it's nauseating. Poor bastard. He's fallen for her completely; he didn't have a chance. Who could resist such a lovely, sinister, witch? Why doesn't he leave? I can't watch; I can't stand another moment. She's betrayed me and she will pay! Just like the others, all beautiful, all irretrievably flawed. Unworthy. She will pay—there, he's getting into his big black SUV and he's backing out. Finally, he's leaving. _

_There isn't much time; she'll be back inside her safe fortress soon and I will have missed my chance. She's getting away; she's already too far away. I missed her. Damn. Next time I'll be in place, I'll be ready to strike; next time I'll find her alone. I'll be waiting._

Bones took her shower and got dressed slowly because she had nowhere to go until someone at the Jeffersonian, called and invited her to come to work for a specific task. She was technically suspended from her job but she'd been to work almost every day anyway; with this serial killer case they'd needed her.

She flipped on the television Booth had insisted she buy. She had to admit, after being without a TV for so long, it was fun to channel-surf and catch up on the news on CNN. Sitting in front of the screen drinking a cup of tea, she thought over her talk with Booth last night.

She'd slept in the same bed with him. But that was all; Booth, exhausted and heartsick, had fallen asleep as soon as he'd crawled into her bed. She'd watched him for a while as he slept. She'd seen tear tracks on his cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Even in sleep, his mouth was tense and downturned. She was pretty sure it had been a cathartic experience for Booth to deal with his Pops' revelation about his father, but she couldn't help feeling terrible about it. No matter how she tried to rationalize it, it felt to Bones like she'd been the cause of his pain, and that made her feel awful. She never wanted to cause him pain. He was her protector, her best friend, the most important person in her life. So why did it seem that lately, she just kept hurting him?

In the morning, he'd left early, but he'd kissed her goodbye. It was such a great kiss that she'd followed him down to his car, padding along in her slippers, taking the chance that at five in the morning there wouldn't be anyone else around to see her in her nightclothes. She just wanted make sure she got one more kiss. How stupid was she, waiting all these years to find out what a great kisser he was? Some genius.

It was funny, now that she thought about it, how much she liked to kiss Booth because she hadn't wanted to have sex with him last night. Well, scratch that; she'd wanted to, very much, but unlike all the other men she'd dated and slept with, Booth was different. She felt the gravity of their connection and she was afraid of messing up what they had. And let's face it; what they had was incredible, precious; it meant everything to her. With Booth, she often had the feeling that her words and actions had long-term importance. It wasn't something she was used to feeling in relationships. Her work had long-term import, yes; people, not so much. So when she finally did become intimate with him, she somehow knew it would be forever. It didn't make logical sense to her, but she wanted to wait.

On the way back up on the elevator to her floor, she'd had a strange feeling: creepy; a prickle across the back of her neck; a sense of coldness. Shuddering, she'd hurried back inside as fast as she could, all the while knowing she was behaving irrationally.

Now, ensconced in front of her TV listening to the plastic-faced announcer reporting on the traffic and the weather, sipping her hot tea, she could laugh at herself. But she'd been seriously freaked out for a few minutes before she'd regained the safety of her home. Her hands had trembled as she had thrown the triple deadbolts. Feeling a little like Maxwell Smart, she'd installed the extra deadbolts after her ex-boyfriend Pete had broken in while she was at work a few years back and had tried to reclaim their TV. She'd been so scared she'd busted the TV with a baseball bat when Pete came around the living room corner carrying the big box. Hence her lack of a television until recently, when Booth had decided that, if he was going to be spending any amount of time hanging out at her place, a TV was required.

It was a nice one, too. HD, flat-screen, picture-in-a-picture; Booth had raved to her about all its attributes. He seemed especially thrilled with being able to watch two sporting events at the same time. When he wasn't around, Bones hardly turned it on; she'd adjusted to living without one. But this morning, the friendly blaring of the news channel helped her not miss Booth quite so acutely.

After hearing the weather and traffic report for a third time, Bones sighed, stretched and turned off the broadcast. Her tea had long since gone cold. The Jeffersonian hadn't called today; with Booth out in the field and the preliminary forensics investigation completed, it was unlikely they would need her. She decided it was a great opportunity to work on her latest book, especially since she was behind deadline what with all that had been going on, and her agent was getting frustrated with her lack of productivity.

She sat down in front of her computer, booted up, and opened the file entitled "Baited Bones." She really hated that title. She spent the next fifteen minutes trying to come up with a better one, but finally gave up and tried to work on the story itself. That was even less productive. After writing and erasing the same sentence four times, she was feeling quite sorry for herself. In spite of being a best-selling author, she often had trouble buckling down and actually writing. At that moment, her cell phone rang and began vibrating across the desk. Caller ID identified the caller as Booth. She snatched it up eagerly.

"Temperance Brennan," she said, breathless from excitement. Booth, of course, picked up on it.

"Wow, Bones, what have you been doing? Running around the apartment?"

"I'm fine. What's going on?"

"The lead's gone cold. Richie Bauman flew the coop. Somehow he knew we were coming. It looks like someone was here recently, but they're gone."

"Where are you?"

"Petersburg, West Virginia. I'm actually already on my way home. I should be back in town in a couple hours. I could pick you up for the meeting tonight, if you like."

"That would be great. Can we go get some dinner first?"

"I was just about to suggest that," he said with a chuckle. "Great minds think alike. Founding Fathers?"

"Of course. So what are you going to do now? About the case, I mean."

"I'm not sure. I was hoping I could go over the facts with you later tonight. Oh, something else I need to tell you. FBI criminal database got a hit on your speed dater, Marcus, through the phone number you provided to the police. His record is all within the last year; couple of B&E's in the District, an assault and battery charge that didn't stick, a restraining order because he was stalking an ex-girlfriend; doesn't your speed dating service do background checks?"

"So he just turned bad within the last year? The service could have run his check before he went on his little crime spree. Just my luck."

"I have someone at HQ running the background check again because… get this, we haven't been able to find any records, criminal or otherwise, of this Marcus dude from earlier than a year ago. And so far we can't locate him. Smells like an alias to me."

"I am so never using that speed dating service again."

"You so don't need a dating service now anyway, Bones," Booth remarked brightly.

"You're my boyfriend now, Booth; wow, that just takes some getting used to."

"I haven't had any trouble with the idea, myself," Booth returned cheerfully. "See you soon, Bones."

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

DRINKING BUDDIES CHAPTER 10: Another Night, Another AA Meeting

_Author Note: Thanks for the great reviews and encouragement. I have to confess, for this chapter I needed all your reviews to keep me going. Here's Chapter 10.__  
_

"Hi, Temperance."

Anthropologically speaking, the soft chant of greeting for each attendee in turn seemed to Bones to reach back across time, awakening a long-lost cultural memory of mutual support and interdependence that something deep down inside her relished and craved. As she sat down after her turn and watched Booth get to his feet and stumble (less awkwardly tonight, she noted) through his own introduction, she had the ephemeral feeling that she was reaching back through the ages and experiencing a glimpse of the dangerous, interconnected world of her ancestors. Wow, this was actually a good idea, this AA concept of the support of a like-minded community in the face of human weakness. Brennan listened with rapt attention to the moderator with the bow tie as he introduced the evening's speaker.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

Brennan blinked and turned to her partner next to her. His toe was kicking the leg of his chair in a constant, jarring rhythm. Clamping a hand on his knee, she glanced at his face and knew instantly he was bored out of his mind and trying to annoy her to amuse himself. Typical Booth.

"No. What?" She responded.

"I asked you if you had any gum or candy." Booth licked his lips and a distasteful scowl formed on them.

"I told you not to eat the onion meat pie," Bones scolded. "The cook always uses too much garlic. Here." She handed him a stick of wintergreen flavored sugarless gum.

"So now what happens?" Hodgins asked from behind them, next to Angela and Sweets who were too preoccupied with another whispered argument to pay attention anyone else.

"Fran will start the evening off with an inspirational vignette," Bones said softly, pointing at the woman who had just made her way to the podium. Booth turned and gave Hodgins a "slash across the throat" sign and shook his head negatively. Jack's eyes widened in understanding.

"Good evening, and welcome to AA here at St. Benedictine's. We are grateful to this host church for graciously allowing us to use their facilities four times a week for the very important work of encouraging recovering addicts. Remember: the good news is you never have to drink, or overeat, or indulge in addictive behavior again."

Booth's cell phone chirped.

"You were supposed to turn it off," Bones whispered urgently, her eyes fastened on Fran.

"Sorry," he said. He flipped the phone on "silent."

"The task ahead of you is never as great as the power behind you. What does that mean? If you are powerless, then your power to prevail must come from a source outside yourself."

Bones raised her right eyebrow and pursed her lips, trying to figure out what Fran was talking about. Booth's cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket, and Bones was sitting so close to his shoulder that the soft sound made her turn her frown toward Booth again. He sighed and turned the phone off completely.

"So tonight, let go of your need to make yourself happy, and let happiness find you. Be grateful for what you have instead of wanting what you don't have. I know it's hard, friends. Everything we addicts let go of has claw marks all over it. But you can do it. I've done it; your group leaders have too. Rely on your friends. You can't walk this path alone. Find your true friends. A true friend is someone who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

Fran stepped down and Bones looked over at Booth, feeling a rush of gratitude for his strong presence, hoping he'd at least heard that last sentence. He hadn't. He was whispering to Hodgins behind him.

"Come on, let's go to our small groups," she grumbled, pulling on his arm.

"So, where do I go?" Hodgins asked, confused.

"Just go with Angela," Booth encouraged him with a mischievous grin.

Booth quickly reclaimed the same desk he'd sat in at the last meeting, directly behind Bones so he could whisper to her. Fran came in with a cardboard box and greeted her attendees cheerfully. The same eight people had returned; Fran seemed to think it a good sign. Booth wondered how many of them were required to attend due to the conditions of their parole, like Bones.

"I thought we'd have a preview discussion of next week's topic, which is Step Two. Can anyone tell me what Step Two says?"

A teenaged girl in the front row with stringy black hair and wearing rows of silver earrings raised her hand.

"Tell us your name again," Fran encouraged.

"My name is Skye," she said, looking expectantly at the room. It was amazing how quickly each attendee came to look forward to their standard AA greeting.

"Hello, Skye."

"Ahem. Hello. The second step says we come to admit that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity." She sat down proudly.

"That's right. At AA, we acknowledge that the source of power that we need to restore our lives to what they should be comes from a Higher Power."

Booth's face brightened while Bones' fell.

"Some call that Higher Power God. Since I call that Power God, for the purposes of simplicity let us refer to our Higher Power as God. However you view that Source, know that you will find strength, purpose and peace only through learning to acknowledge and draw from the power of God."

"Now I know why they meet in a church," Bones moaned. Booth tried to shush her before Fran set her sights on Brennan, but it was too late.

"Temperance, what are your thoughts on this step?"

"I don't believe in a higher power," she said bluntly.

"What would it take for you to believe in God?" Fran asked, walking closer to where she sat.

"Empirical proof, I suppose," she mused.

"You've never seen the core of the earth, or a magnetic field, or another planet that supports life—but as a scientist I'm willing to bet you believe in all of these." Booth was impressed. Fran had obviously done some homework on Dr. Temperance Brennan since the last meeting.

"I believe that the earth's core exists because of the Laws of Physics; same for magnetism. The idea that life exists on other planets can be extrapolated from the fact that life exists here on Earth."

"What if you could prove the existence of a Higher Power empirically? What if you try the 12 step program, having faith that it works because God is empowering you to live your life as it was meant to be lived, and consequently you are successful in conquering your alcoholism?"

"I would have to think about that. But, because I am here, going through the program, it makes sense to me that for the time being I should accept and act on the principles you are setting forth. I agree to…" she hesitated.

"Have faith?" finished Booth, smiling at her sweetly.

She faltered for a moment or two before answering, "Yes. Have faith, for the duration of the program, and only because I am trying this out, like the hypothesis of an experiment, as Fran suggests."

Fran grinned and a shocked Booth sat up straighter. "Good, Temperance," Fran concluded. "Wait everyone; before you go, here is your journal for the remainder of the course. Please read each week's material and try to write some of your thoughts down every day. Peace, everyone." She reached into her brown cardboard box and handed each participant a book as they left.

Booth drove slowly on the way back to Bones' place. They'd been having a lively discussion ever since leaving St. Benedictine's and he wasn't ready for it to end when he dropped her off. But when he finally pulled up to the front of her building, she didn't get out right away.

"Would you like to come up?"

"Sure," he said without a second's hesitation. "You know, I had a few things I wanted to run by you anyway." Booth reached over the seat into the back of the car and stretched to retrieve a file folder. They got out and headed for the elevator.

"What's that?" She pointed at the folder he was carrying.

"Pictures from West Virginia, from the crime scene down in Staunton, and of the suspected killer," he said. "I know you've spent a lot of time I. the victims, but I want to bounce a few theories off you regarding where we might find this guy." Brennan unlocked her door and let them in, being careful to relock the dead bolts. She turned on the hall light and led Booth to the living room. He spread the pictures out on the coffee table.

"This is the suspected murder weapon," he said, holding up a photo of a piece of thick bailing wire. Bones took it from his hands and looked at the picture carefully.

"Where is the actual wire?"

"I dropped it off at the Jeffersonian for analysis."

"This appears to be consistent with the damage found on the hyoid bones of all the victims," Bones agreed, studying the photo.

"This is a shot inside the cabin in West Virginia. He was living like a survivalist. And he may have at least one assumed name. We found equipment there that was probably used to forge fake driver's licenses. This picture is Richie Bauman about ten years ago; it's a mug shot from a break-and-enter at a convenience store in southern Virginia."

Brennan picked up the photo and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. He looks familiar somehow, but I can't quite place him." She stared at the picture intently before handing it back to him. "Angela can run an age enhancement program on this shot. Maybe that would help."

"Great, Bones. We'll try it first thing in the morning. This killer is invisible. We're running out of leads, and once the trail grows cold, we'll have to wait until there's another murder to get a whiff again."

"If it's not just another missing persons case for the first few weeks. The trail grows cold in missing persons cases because so often, the window of opportunity closes before the police take any action. Is there any way to have new missing persons bulletins sent to our team as soon as they are received?"

"Caroline can make that happen." Booth gathered up the contents of the folder but stopped when Bones picked up the mug shot once again and looked at it long and hard.

"Where do I know you from?" she asked herself. She handed it back and Booth packed the picture back into the file folder.

"I should let you get some sleep. Good night, Bones." Booth extended a hand, pulled her onto her feet and hauled her into a thorough hug. He looked down at her as if he were waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he smiled ruefully.

"I thought you might ask me to stay," he said. "But you don't really want me to. I can see it on your face." The smile faded off his lips and his eyes grew cautious.

"No Booth; I do want you. Believe me. It's not what you think. I'll explain it to you—as soon as I understand it myself." She kissed his cheek and then leaned her head on his chest. His hand went up to stroke her hair. They both savored the quiet moment. When they broke apart, Booth was at peace with her decision.

"Okay; fair enough. I'll see you in the morning." Booth reluctantly pulled away and left.

_He's getting into his gas hog SUV. It's early; maybe they had a fight. The important thing is she's alone now. As soon as he leaves. The sooner the better. I am ready this time. She has no idea that her building's attic has an air shaft big enough for me to slide through. And she has no idea I've widened it to make an exit into her spare room. Soon, lovely witch, you'll know. You'll know that I am the genius. Very soon._

_My plan is perfect and tonight's the night. _

Bones couldn't get the photograph out of her mind. She paced her living room, trying to place the oddly familiar features now etched in her mind. Standing still in the center of the room and squeezing her eyes shut, she worked on aging the image mentally, using what she knew of Angela's program to imagine what the man would look like ten years older. Her mind painted on a mustache. Now she imagined him without a mustache but with a beard. No; not a beard. Just a few days' growth of whiskers, enough to shadow his face and give him a gruff look. Darker hair. Add a scar over his left eye. Where had that come from? She knew who he was.

"Marcus!" She exclaimed at the moment her unconscious caught up with her. She'd been woozy and fuzzy that night, but she knew that was who she'd seen in Booth's picture; she was absolutely sure of it. Did that mean Richie Bauman and Marcus were one and the same person? She could think of no other explanation. She grabbed up her cell phone and speed-dialed Booth.

"Booth," he answered on the first ring.

"It's Marcus," she blurted.

"What? Where is he? Bones! Are you okay?" She heard the squealing of tires through the phone and regretted her one-word revelation. She hurried to explain herself and put him at ease.

"The picture of Richie Bauman. It's Marcus. That's how he meets them, through a dating service."

"Richie Bauman is Marcus?" Booth repeated, incredulous. "Okay. It makes sense. He meets them on the service, goes out with them once or twice to figure out how to get them alone, and when he does, they become victims of a serial killer." She heard him slap his knee.

"Nice work Bones! Okay, so where is this Marcus guy?"

"Marcus?" Bones gasped.

"Yeah, Marcus; that's what I said. Bones, your voice sounds funny. Are you okay? Bones?"

The connection ended in static. And in that instant, Booth knew what was happening. He did a wild u-turn and sped back toward Bones' apartment.

_To be continued… _

_Hey, I know it's an incredible coincidence that the case Caroline randomly handed to Booth several chapters back is tied to the incident with Bones—but hey, this is fanfiction! Enjoy!_


	11. Chapter 11

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 11: INTRUDER!  
**

_Author's Notes: SO SORRY for the cliffhanger. I promise to be nicer from now on... especially if you leave me a review!  
_

Booth punched on his lights and siren and ran every traffic light on the way back to Brennan's apartment. When he got within a few blocks he turned off the sound, not sure what he would be walking into. Before he left his car he grabbed the police radio and hurriedly called dispatch for backup. Then he made his way up to Apartment 2-B as fast as his legs could carry him.

Fully expecting her door to have been broken in by the intruder, he was surprised to find it closed tight and dead-bolted. This didn't appear to be the point of entry, but he was well aware there weren't any other doors into her apartment. Mystified, Booth wondered how the guy had managed to get inside. Putting his ear up against the smooth metal, he listened for any clue as to what was going on within. A heavy thump followed by a cracking noise and the angry sound of a man's voice made him wild with fear for Bones. He knew he'd never be able to break down the door; he'd helped her install the locks himself and they were as impenetrable as a fort. Where were those keys she'd given him 'in case of emergency'? Desperately he went over in his mind every possible place he could have put them.

Wait! They were on his work keychain! His work keys were attached to his belt next to the gun holster. Finding the keychain and fumbling through the multitude of keys he carried, he located the two that Bones had given him months ago and began working on the locks. The first key, in keeping with Murphy's law, unlocked the last bolt he tried it on. Well, at least the other key unlocked both of the remaining deadbolts.

"Bones! Bones!" He yelled into the hall when he finally got the door open, pulled his gun and made entry.

"Here; I'm back here," he heard her cry frantically. Her voice was coming from the hall leading to the bedrooms. Booth pivoted and ran toward the sound of her cry to find Bones standing over a man lying prone on the floor, her foot planted firmly across his neck. The man was writhing in pain and turning an ugly shade of purple. Beads of sweat shone on Bones' face and arms; she was pale and trembling.

"Whoa, Bones, we may need him alive," Booth said, falling to his knees beside the half-conscious intruder and slapping cuffs on him as fast as he could. "Although I can't think of a single reason why," he threatened the pinned man. Once the intruder was secured Booth jumped back up, put his free arm around her waist and eased Bones' foot off the man's neck. He greedily gulped in air with strangled gasps.

"Are you okay?" Booth asked her, keeping his gun trained on the suspect.

"He shot me with something," she said shakily, trying with an unsteady finger to point to something sticking out of her shoulder blade. Booth pulled her closer to see what it was. A tranquilizer dart, like the ones used to bring down wild animals, was stuck in her back.

"Get it out; get it out," she mumbled thickly, trying ineffectively to reach it. She pitched forward into Booth's arms; he managed to catch her and prop her up. Her eyes were having trouble focusing on his face.

"He shot you with a tranquilizer dart and you still managed to beat him up?" Booth couldn't believe it. With a shudder he yanked out the offending dart and threw it across the hallway. The man on the floor groaned and tried to sit up. His eyes blazing with hate, he reached for the tranquilizer gun that lay just out of his reach. Booth snapped around, holding a now unconscious Bones slumped up against his side, and forcefully kicked the gun away, keeping his own gun pointed at Marcus.

"Don't even think about moving. Unless you want me to shoot you, the only thing you are allowed to do between now and when the police get here is breathe. As long as you breathe very slowly," he added angrily.

"She kicked me. I think she broke a rib," he whined. "What is she, a ninja?"

"Shut up."

"FBI," Booth heard agents entering the apartment.

"Back here; suspect is secure," Booth yelled. Slowly, his back against the wall, he slid the rest of the way to the floor and let his colleagues take over while he held onto Bones with a strength born of terror. As the events of the last few horrific moments sank in, he began to shake uncontrollably. If he hadn't arrived at the exact moment he did, Bones would have succumbed to the effects of the sedative and who knows what the angry killer would have done to her at that point. She'd gotten the best of him, and she'd almost won; Booth seriously doubted that any of the other victims had fought back so hard.

"Bones?" He whispered anxiously. The skin of her face was cool and pale and her mouth was slack; the sedative was definitely in full force now. He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight against his chest while agents secured the scene. Letting his forehead lean on hers, he thanked God for protecting the life of the woman he loved.

"Agent Booth?"

The smell of pipe tobacco and aftershave wafted across his senses. Booth looked up into a familiar face. Special Agent Charlie Burns was here to assist with the arrest, Booth noted with relief. Over the years, Burns had on occasion assisted Brennan and Booth and they were friends as well as coworkers. He took one look at Brennan lying unconscious in Booth's arms and yelled behind him for the EMTs, who were also just now arriving. Firemen were here too, for some reason unknown to Booth. He doubted whether even Bones' spacious home could hold many more people.

"Back here," one of them yelled from Brennan's second bedroom.

"What? What?" Booth asked Burns as he jumped and headed back in that direction. EMTs were now carefully lifting Bones from his grasp and onto a gurney. One of the medics strapped on an oxygen mask. Her cheeks pinked up within a few seconds. Booth frowned. The EMT noticed his concern and explained what he was doing.

"Her breathing was too shallow; that's why she was so pale. It's a common outcome with a tranquilizer this strong. This will help her get enough oxygen until the effects wear off," the EMT explained.

"Agent Booth!" Burns's voice echoed from the end of the hallway.

"She's going to be fine, Agent Booth," the EMT said, reading Booth's name from his badge. "Go ahead."

With a reluctant glance at his unconscious partner, he turned and joined Burns in the back bedroom.

"There," he said, pointing to the intake air duct grill hanging from the ceiling. "Point of entry."

Brennan's tastefully decorated spare room was simply furnished with a Queen-sized sleigh bed, white matelasse quilted comforter, and an ornate white and gold trimmed dressing table with a padded chair. Booth grabbed the chair, placed it under the ceiling opening, and climbed up so he could see into the ceiling.

"Hand me your flashlight, Charlie," he requested. Wordlessly he complied. With some difficulty, Booth angled his muscular shoulders into the opening, took a long look around inside the ceiling space and then climbed back down to report what he'd seen. His face was tight and fearful.

"Looks like he could have been watching her for a while now. Bones is lucky to be alive. I can't believe that she and I thought this place was so safe, after we installed all those deadbolts." Booth brushed dust from the attic off his shoulders. "I'm going with her in the ambulance, Charlie."

"We'll handle this end of things, Booth. You go. I know what she means to you," Burns said softly. "You there—Agent Saunders!" He immediately began yelling across the room at someone else. "Find someone small to get up there and find out how the intruder gained ingress to the building."

An hour later, Booth was at Brennan's bedside in the emergency room when she began to stir. He waited until her eyes were open and she was beginning to focus on her unfamiliar surroundings to speak to her.

"Bones, you're at the hospital," he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. It was cold, a lingering effect of the tranquilizer dart. He rubbed both his hands over listless fingers to warm them up. Her other arm had an IV drip.

"Where's Marcus?"

"He's in custody. You were amazing, subduing him like that," Booth praised her.

"I shouldn't have been able to. I don't understand it. That dart should have knocked me out right away," she marveled. She looked at Booth quizzically. "Maybe there's something to this Higher Power business," she whispered, more to herself than to Booth.

"You think so?" Booth asked.

"When I was talking to you on the phone, I heard the sound of breathing and I looked over and saw him. He was just standing there in my living room, smiling at me. It scared me half to death. I don't know why I threw the phone at him, maybe because I couldn't think of anything else to do. He stepped on it and crushed it and then he laughed. That really made me mad. I kicked him hard in the side, and then he shot me with that dart gun. I should have gone down in seconds, Booth, but I remember asking God for the strength to keep going. What better time to try out the new hypothesis, I thought. And I was able to hold him off, right until you showed up. That's the last thing I remember."

"Hold him off?" Booth exclaimed. "When I got there, you had a foot across his windpipe and he was almost dead!"

"Trachea," she corrected. "I didn't hurt him, did I?"

"Oh, not if you don't consider a couple of broken ribs and a bruised trachea to be injuries," Booth quipped, emphasizing his use of the correct anatomical term for 'windpipe'. "Bones, because of you we have this monster in custody, which is where he'll stay."

"When can I leave? I feel pretty good now." She shook the arm with the IV impatiently.

"You know how hospitals are. Everything's a process. Just relax. You'll be out of here soon."

"Well, I want to write this all down in my journal while it's fresh on my mind."

"Journal?" Booth asked, clueless.

"Booth, you're supposed to be keeping one, too, for AA; did you forget?"

"Oh, right. No, of course I didn't forget," he said, looking guilty.

"How did he get into my apartment?"

"We found an open air duct in your spare bedroom ceiling that connects to the mechanical room of the building, and it is wide enough to allow a person to crawl through," Booth reported. "I can't believe those expensive apartments are so vulnerable."

She shuddered. "I don't want to go back there until it's fixed," she said. "Maybe I can stay with Dad for a week or two."

"Stay with me," Booth suggested hopefully. She thought about it for a moment and then broke into a smile.

"Thanks, Booth. I'd like that."

_~To be continued…~_


	12. Chapter 12

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

_From the Author: __**Readers, NOTE THESE DISCLAIMERS:**_

_Let me pause in my story telling and make a clear distinction between the fictional world of "Drinking Buddies" and the real world program that has saved so many people's lives, including members of my immediate family and good friends, by offering this preamble from AA: _

"**alcoholic's anonymous® is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism. The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or fees for AA membership; we are self-supporting through our own contributions. AA is not allied with any sect, denomination, politics, organization or institution; does not wish to engage in any controversy, neither endorses nor opposes any causes. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety."**

_I hope you will continue to enjoy my fanfiction in the spirit that I am writing it—primarily to entertain. I do not want to misrepresent or presume to give information about the real world AA program. And I don't own Bones; just playing. And now, let's go see what's happening at Booth's apartment…_

**CHAPTER 12: A Night with the Booth Boys**

"_Dear Journal:_

_Even though it seems silly to address an inanimate object as a sentient being, it also seems the most appropriate way to commence with this account of my thoughts and feelings as I examine myself and my actions. I find it hard to accept that I am powerless on my own to control myself and my choices. I find it almost impossible to admit that I may be an alcoholic. Yet I do acknowledge that circumstances in my life have been out of control lately, as have my actions and reactions, that my actions have adversely affected my life and work, and that I have a recurring problem with drinking myself into intoxication. I am, at this point, not sure what I think; what I believe: It is an uncomfortable state of mind. Booth would call it my state of the soul."_

"Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones!" Parker came barreling in Booth's front door with an excited grin and plopped down right next to Bones, as close as he could get without actually sitting on her. She placed her pen into the binding of the journal and closed it up. Booth was right behind him, hurrying to shrug off his black overcoat and leather gloves so he could reach out to prevent Parker from throwing himself on top of her.

"Whoa there, buddy," he cautioned his enthusiastic son.

"It's okay, Booth." Brennan draped an arm around Parker and he snuggled into the crook of her arm immediately. Booth sat down in the chair across from the two of them and smiled at the sight before him. Dressed in her most comfortable pair of blue jeans, long-sleeved thermal top, thick socks and wrapped in his afghan, Bones was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her.

"We brought home takeout," he announced, pointing at a white bag on the counter. "Did you get some writing done?"

"A little. I mostly slept though; I'm still kind of groggy." Booth nodded. He knew how the first day home from the hospital felt, from unpleasant personal experience.

Leaning forward, Booth peered closely at her, reached out his hand to push aside a corner of the afghan and rubbed her knee for a moment. After evaluating, he was apparently satisfied that she was looking and sounding better.

"It was good for you to sleep. The doctor said it would take a few days to get that stuff completely out of your system. Hey, the Doc also said," Booth continued, getting up to fix her a plate, "that Chinese food would speed up the process."

"No he didn't," Bones protested happily. "Did you get Chinese Dumplings?"

"Of course," he answered. "And Egg Drop Soup." It was her favorite.

"And Lo Mein for me," Parker added. "It's almost as good as spaghetti. Dad, can I open my fortune cookie now?" A cookie was already in his hand and he was poised to rip open the cellophane wrapper. Booth took two steps in Parker's direction, picked the cookie from his palms and dropped it back into the bag.

"Not until we're all done with the 'eating dinner' part. Hey, Bones, we also brought home a selection of fine movies for your entertainment tonight."

"Yeah; "Monsters and Aliens" or "Fantastic Four"," Parker announced loudly.

"Or "Australia", or "Earth"," Booth added, laughing at his son for only mentioning his own personal preferences.

"I'll let you Booth Boys decide," Bones said diplomatically. "Just don't get offended if I drift off during the movie. I'm quite sleepy tonight."

By the end of the evening, however, it wasn't Bones who was fast asleep on the couch after a showing of "Fantastic Four"—it was Parker. With his dinosaur-slippered feet on Booth's lap and his curly blond head on Bones', he looked like a sleeping angel. Booth slid out from under the furry feet on his lap as the credits played across the screen and carefully lifted Parker into his arms.

"Be right back, Bones," he whispered.

Watching him carry his son to bed, she was overwhelmed by a wave of well-being and contentment. She hadn't felt this safe, this connected, since before her parents had disappeared. A light bulb went off in her head. Could Sweets be right? Was it possible that her ability to give and receive love had been critically wounded at that painful juncture of her young life? Could psychiatric wounds be as devastating as actual physical ones?

Maybe there was more to the science of Psychology than she'd previously allowed. She needed to further explore this new revelation about love. What if her ability to attach to the two most important people in her life—Booth and Parker—was paralyzed by her childhood trauma because she'd refused to deal with it? She couldn't allow the past to ruin her present. There was too much at stake. She had to talk to Booth. She anxiously waited for his return from Parker's bedroom. But she had to wait for several long minutes before he walked quietly into the living room.

"Now that little boy is out cold," Booth declared, reclaiming his seat on the couch. "I think he saw maybe the first five minutes of that movie."

"Didn't his fortune cookie say 'you will be surrounded with tranquility'?" Bones reminded him. He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess it came true. Hey, you seem to be waking up now."

"Yes, I feel more alert than I have all day. How about you?" She studied him closely, apparently trying to assess how tired he was. She seemed tentative, unable to read his current state of mind. Booth recognized that confused expression. He knew that reading people was not her strong point and hurried to put her at ease.

"I'm great. Wide awake. Is something on your mind?"

"I want to talk to you about some things I've been pondering lately."

"Wow, Bones; pondering sounds kinda serious," Booth kidded with a grin. "So, tell me, what have you been pondering?"

She scooted a little closer to him, and upon seeing the movement, he responded in kind so that they were sitting together, close enough to sense each other's warmth. Booth couldn't help sighing and leaning back, enjoying the feeling. He swung an arm over her shoulders.

"Can you talk like this?" He asked, snuggling her to his side.

"Of course."

"So what's bothering you? Something's bothering you; I can tell."

"I've been thinking about the connection between my childhood, my teen years and who I am now, in the present."

"Psychiatry, Bones? You?"

"I know; I know." She shrugged. "All I'm saying is, I've been going back over my life, and attempting to discover what happened to mold me into who I am. A good deal of who we are is determined by the genes we inherit, but it's become increasingly obvious to me that human beings are much more complex than the sum total of their inherited characteristics."

"Okay. That much is true. So what else goes into making you who you are?" Booth raised an eyebrow; he was a step ahead of her and he liked the feeling. People and what made them tick was his area of expertise.

"Our experiences play a part. We learn to behave in certain ways because of what we experience. Traumatic events are experiences that can change the way we perceive the world and therefore affect our behavior."

"Right. So what happened to you after your parents disappeared, Bones?"

"You know the story. They disappeared a few days before Christmas when I was fifteen. Russ found the presents they'd left for us and tried to make it a normal Christmas for me. When I got angry at him he left too. I shouldn't have done that; if I hadn't treated him so badly, everything would be different," she said sadly.

"Now, wait a minute. First of all, when you saw the presents under the tree it was a natural reaction to expect that your Mom and Dad were back. When you realized your mistake, you must have been devastated, as would any normal child, Bones. Russ was the only target around, and he was practically a kid, too. But, just for argument's sake, let's say that you didn't get angry with Russ, and he didn't leave, and the two of you opened your presents that morning. You both would have still felt miserable and missed your parents like crazy. See? Not so different."

"But maybe I wouldn't have been put into foster care."

"Assuming you and Russ could pay the bills on your parents' house, that your neighbors wouldn't report your situation to social services, and that Russ at the age of 19 could be your guardian? Not. You know you would have probably ended up in the system anyway."

"Hmm. I've never thought about it like that."

"So, see? Not your fault. Now go on. Tell me what happened to you in your foster home."

"I was in two foster homes. The first one lasted about three months. They weren't mean to me, but they didn't care about me, not really. I wanted my own parents and I made it known. I was obnoxious about it."

"No… really? You, Bones?" Booth exclaimed.

"Okay, I get it Booth," she smiled weakly, giving him a playful shove before continuing with her story. "I was unhappy there. I just wanted to feel special; loved. I was uncooperative and disrespectful. One Monday morning I just walked away, carrying my bag of clothes. I walked until the sun went down, and I curled up behind a store for the night. That was the end of that foster home; they didn't want me back. So then I got placed in the home of a young couple with a little daughter, about three or four. She was so cute. You know, she was the only human being I liked and who liked me back, through all the bad years. But her father was mean. He called it 'strict'. If I didn't do exactly what he said, he would punish me. I began to realize I hadn't been so bad off in the first home."

"How long were you there?"

"Until I turned 18. I left when I got into college on scholarship."

"Is that the home you told Sweets and me about? The dish that slipped and broke?"

"Yes. He locked me in a closet for two days that time. But that wasn't the only time he locked me up as a punishment. I got used to it." She raised her eyes to his, calm and devoid of emotion. Booth didn't buy it.

"Nobody gets used to that," Booth whispered. His eyes brimmed as he reached out to smooth her hair away from her forehead. She only hesitated for a second or two before resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his chest. She sighed contentedly.

"I have felt safe with you since the day we met," she said softly.

"Really? That's funny, because I thought you hated me the day we met, and for a lot of days after that, too," Booth remarked, twisting his finger in a lock of her hair.

"Sorry about that, Booth. I guess I did act kind of…"

"Yeah, you did," he agreed.

"I've been punching and kicking my way through life ever since my teen years."

"Well, that we have in common," Booth said wryly.

"I came out of those years determined to never be powerless again. I learned martial arts; I took riflery in college and learned to shoot a hand gun. I borrowed money for grad school. I earned a PhD. But here's the point, Booth. My motive for all that wasn't self-fulfillment, or some noble purpose. I did it partly because I love science and I love to learn, but I also did it out of anger. I was determined to be the best, to prove to them and to myself that I would never be dominated again." She paused and took a deep breath.

"What were you angry about, Bones? Who were you angry at?" Gently, he pushed her away just enough so that he could look into her eyes and she could see him. He already knew some of the answers. But he wanted to hear her put her anger into words.

"That's what I've been pondering. I know I was angry at my foster parents. And Russ. But I didn't feel anger at my Mom and Dad until recently, when I found out my mother was alive for almost two years after she left me, and when I discovered that Dad has been alive the whole time. Since then I believe I've been very angry."

"I'd agree with that assessment. Is there anybody else you're angry with?" Booth asked, fully expecting to hear her say him. After his brain surgery, after he'd been in a coma for four days, she'd run off to South America for six weeks. He'd thought for some time now that she must be angry with him for almost dying and thus threatening to abandon her, just like her family, and he had wondered if it was the catalyst behind her recent problems. So he was surprised at her answer.

"I'm angry at me," she said. "I'm angry at myself for being so different from everyone around me that I am unlovable. I'm angry that I can't figure it out, no matter how hard I try." Her eyes filled with despair.

"What are you talking about?" Did she really feel that way about herself? Booth was stunned. He'd always simply assumed that everyone liked him.

"I can't figure out how to love, or be loved. And I want that, more than anything. I know dead people better than living ones. What's wrong with me?" Her voice broke.

"Hey. Listen to me, Bones. Temperance. There's something wrong with everyone. Nobody has it all figured out. And you're wrong about yourself; you are totally lovable and capable of giving love. You're an amazing woman. You're loyal, caring, and open with the people you care about. Parker loves you, and you can be sure that he knows you love him too. Your father; Angela; Russ; Zack. All imperfect people, but they all love you and you love them back. And I love you; you believe me, right? So, see? You're not as different as you feel. You're not alone. That's all in your head, honey."

"I stabbed my best friend," she reminded him, resisting his efforts to reassure. "I don't think she feels very loving toward me."

"About that… have you talked to Angela about it? Because I think she knows more than you do right now, about the case."

"What do you mean?"

"Caroline came by the lab yesterday to talk to Angela, and I was there checking out her idents of the victims. Caroline told us that the shot glasses from the bar had traces of a sedative in it; I don't remember the name of the drug. Bauman, Marcus, whatever name you call him, was probably planning an abduction that night. But your attack on him prevented that, although the situation admittedly got out of control. Angela said she had wine but didn't have shots with the rest of you. She said she wasn't feeling too well that night, so I guess that's what kept her from drinking and getting drugged along with you. My point is she knows you were drugged and didn't know what you were doing."

"I should go talk to her," Bones said. "I don't want to lose her friendship."

"You won't lose her friendship. You may not believe it right now, but she loves you no matter what."

"I don't know." Bones sounded down, more so than Booth could ever remember.

"Well, I know it," he asserted. "Another thing; Caroline has petitioned the judge to hear your case again because of this new evidence that's come to light, and on account that you helped catch the serial killer. With my help, of course." Booth beamed. Bones looked up into his eyes, searching for strength. He brushed her cheek with his hand and waited for her to draw her own conclusions.

"Then tomorrow I'm going to talk to Angela. If she wants to talk with me, that is. And Booth—even if my sentence is lifted, I'm going to keep attending the group meetings. I like Fran. And I like the way she sees the world. I find it quite intriguing; compelling even. I even like her poetry selections. And it's already helping me understand myself better. I think I have a lot more to learn. Will you come with me?"

"Of course, Bones. Anything for you." He leaned over and kissed her hair. Closing his eyes he sighed happily. "I don't think I'll move for a while."

"Me too. This is great."

"So great it's reduced Dr. Temperance Brennan to one-syllable words," Booth teased.

"Shut up."

"See?"

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 13: Quiet Conversation**

**Author's Note: **_Let's go have breakfast at the Royal Diner…_

"Wake up, Dad! Wake up, Dr. Bones!" The sensation of little hands pummeling him filtered through his deep sleep with slow insistence. Booth forced himself to sit up from where he and Bones had collapsed in a heap together on the couch. He rubbed the knot in his neck and shook his head to clear it.

"What?" He asked fuzzily, just now beginning to realize he wasn't in his bed. He felt a brief twinge of frustration: he wasn't getting any younger; he was going to have neck pain for the rest of the day now. He glanced at his partner sleeping beside him. Parker continued to pat Bones on the shoulder until Booth stopped him.

"Dr. Bones is still asleep," he said to his son, stating the obvious. He started to stand up, failed, and plopped back down onto the couch. He rubbed his hands over his face.

"Whoa, I need coffee."

"Well, I'm hungry. Wake her up so we can go get pancakes at the diner!" Parker demanded.

"I'm awake," she murmured indistinctly, face planted in one of the sofa pillows. Booth laughed and tugged at her to sit up.

"Yay! Pancakes, here we come!" Parker ran to the front door and began tying on his sneakers.

"Whoa, slow down there, son. It may take Bones and me longer than two minutes to be ready to run out the door."

It was Booth's habit to eat out two or three meals a day when he had Parker. He had never developed the skills to cook much of anything. Besides, he and Parker loved the colorful city neighborhood where Booth lived. Every merchant and restaurant owner within a four block radius knew the Booth boys.

This Saturday morning, however, was delightfully different for Booth. Not only did he have the company of his irrepressible, perennially cheerful son, but Temperance Brennan had spent the night on his couch and now sat beside him, her eyes still half-closed in sleep, looking all soft and frumpy and beautiful. And they had the whole day to do whatever the three of them felt like doing. Booth glanced to the window. In keeping with his spirits, it was even a bright sunny day.

"I like pancakes," Bones said to Parker. "I'll just get changed and be ready in a few minutes, okay?"

"Me too," Booth agreed.

Parker was half a block ahead of them by the time they arrived at the diner for breakfast. They watched him manfully pull open the door and slip inside.

"He's probably going back to the kitchen to say hi to the cooks," Booth said. He and Bones found their usual seats by the window. Parker's excited voice could be heard behind the swinging doors to the kitchen.

"Parker is such a great kid," Brennan said fondly. "Dad told me that he has an amazing alacrity for scientific investigation. He wants to ask you about enrolling him in the Washingtonian Summer Science Camp. Has he mentioned it to you?" She poured them coffee from the urn on the table.

"Already done. Max brought me the paperwork all filled out; all I had to do was sign on the dotted line. Tell me something—he said it was a free program, but I know there's no such thing around here. Is he paying for Parker? If he is, I want to pay him back."

"No, he's not." Bones tore open a pack of sugar and stirred it into her coffee with studied nonchalance.

"Well, I know it's not free." Booth frowned suspiciously and started to ask another question when Parker burst out of the kitchen and jogged to their table to claim his spot next to his Dad. All smiles, Parker had a cinnamon bun in his hand. The icing was already smeared on both cheeks.

"Whoa, son. Look at me." Booth dipped his napkin into his water glass and carefully cleaned Parker's cheeks. Although impatient, Parker acquiesced to his efforts, turning his face up close to Booth's. Bones watched, fascinated, as Booth tenderly wiped the sticky sugar from his son's face. She couldn't help smiling at her tough FBI partner's rarely seen maternal side. Parker wrenched out of his grasp as soon as he finished.

"Pancakes for everybody," Parker announced to the waitress who was standing at the end of the table.

"The usual for the Booth boys?" She asked cheerfully. "And the same for the lady?"

Bones nodded.

"You got it." Parker gave her thumbs up.

"Dad, I'm going to go play the video games." Having anticipated his son's next move, Booth held out a handful of change. Picking out the quarters, Parker disappeared into the alcove beside the kitchen.

"I should probably call the management at my apartment and get things rolling to repair my ceiling and secure the attic crawl space. And I'm going to call Angela and see if she wants to talk to me."

"She does," Booth quickly assured her. He took her hand across the table. "I loved talking with you last night, Bones. I know it was hard for you to... you know, open up like that. I love that you feel safe with me."

"Well, of course I do, Booth. What I told you last night is true. I've always felt safe with you." Turning her hand over, she threaded her fingers through his. He gazed at her warmly, taken in by the rare gesture of affection. He was seeing a softer Bones since she'd gotten into trouble. He liked it.

"Hey there, you two," Angela's voice greeted them from behind Bones. She turned around to see Angela and Jack Hodgins, arm in arm. Breaking their connection, Bones and Booth both slid over to make room for them, but instead of splitting up they sat down together next to Brennan. The diner bench was snug but they managed to fit.

"Meeting for breakfast?" Booth asked politely, but a mischievous light played in his eyes.

"I guess you could say that," Jack replied coyly. "Where's the little man?"

"He won't be back until he smells the pancakes on the table. He's shooting down space aliens in the arcade."

"Of course. So what are you two doing? Meeting for breakfast?" Angela asked.

"You could say that," Booth answered softly, winking at Bones. Angela's eyes widened.

"I guess you could," she marveled. Jack's arm around her shoulder tightened and he leaned over to plant a not-so-subtle kiss on her lips. She dodged him so she could continue talking to Bones and Booth.

"Jack and I did a lot of talking. Can you believe it? We both have wanted to get back together for ages, but neither of us could see a path to reconciliation. I was so sure I couldn't trust him, and he was so sure I wasn't capable of loving him the way he wanted to be loved. Now I can't believe how dumb we both were to wait this long to get back together."

The waitress was back, and in an amazing coincidence so was Parker, who slid into his seat while the table was filled with heaping plates of pancakes. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. As soon as everyone was served he plunged his fork and knife, which he'd been holding at the ready, into the topmost pancake. For a few minutes there was relative silence.

"I guess we were all hungry," Angela commented once she'd eaten half of her pancakes. Booth and Hodgins nodded silently, their mouths full. Parker didn't even look up.

"I'm happy for you and Jack, Angela," Bones said. Only Booth noticed how her eyes darted nervously to Angela and then back to her hands in her lap. Alone out of all them, Bones had barely touched her food. She played with the salt, she looked out the window; but she couldn't seem to make eye contact with her best friend. Her words from the night before rang in his head: _I can't figure out how to love, or be loved. And I want that, more than anything. I know dead people better than living ones._ He watched her silently, wishing he could help her. She'd been so injured as a child she just couldn't bring herself to trust in her relationships. And now her friendship with Angela had been dealt a severe blow that would shake anyone, but the emotional blinders Bones carried made it even harder.

"What are you doing today, Ange?"

Booth's head shot up. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right. Bones was actually initiating. Breathing faster than normal and sweat on her temples clued Booth into the fact that she was not as calm as she sounded. He reached out under the table with his foot and nudged hers gently. When she looked at him, questioning, he signaled his support. Her eyes lit up and he knew the almost imperceptible nod had reassured Bones greatly. He left his foot beside hers, a reminder he was there.

"I know its Saturday, but there's a few loose ends on those serial victims I'd like to finish up at work. Cam wants the report first thing Monday morning. Why, Sweetie?" Angela looked uncomfortable. Booth guessed she was as anxious as Bones to bring their friendship back onto dry ground.

"I was hoping you and I could talk."

"Yes, Bren; I'd love that!" Angela's face broke into a sunny smile. On the other hand, Bones looked shell-shocked even though she'd got what she'd asked for. Booth decided this was his cue to leave them alone.

"Parker, are you done with your breakfast? We gotta go, buddy. I just remembered I have to, uh, pick up my dry cleaning. I'll see you back at home when you're done, Bones; take your time, you hear?"

"Yeah, I've got somewhere to be, too," Jack added, picking up on Booth's lead. After some fumbling through their pockets the men pulled a few bills out of their wallets and took their last swigs of coffee. Then the two women were alone.

"Wow," Angela started, "That was quick. Is it that obvious that you and I have some issues to settle?"

"I think it must be," Brennan agreed. "Ange, I—"

"Wait. I know, I know; you're sorry about what happened, you wish you could go back in time and take it all back, blah, blah, blah. I forgive you already. I've thought through the whole thing, and I've come to the conclusion that if I'd been where you were, I might have ended up stabbing you. Except I know I couldn't have pulled off that Kung Fu kick-the-knife-out-of-the-bad-guy's hand thing you did. That was pure Brennan, baby. Now let's talk important stuff. You and Booth? You're living with him? Sweetie, if you don't tell me everything, and I mean everything, right now, our friendship really will be ruined."

"It's not what you think, Ange. There's a hole in my ceiling that the serial killer used to gain entry to my house. I don't really want to live at home until that hole is completely sealed off. So Booth is letting me stay with him for a few days; that's all."

"Come on, Bren! I saw the way he was looking at you this morning. He's smitten, head over heels, crazy in love with you. Of course I've known that for a long time. But this morning, I saw you looking at him the same way. Explain… now!"

Bones smiled and looked at her friend. "I'll have to tell you everything that's happened this week; all of it. I'm sure you agree that it's been a very tough week for all of us. I almost killed you, Angela. I still can't believe it. You say you've forgiven me—but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself."

"You were drugged by a serial killer," Angela stated, emphasizing each word.

"But I was also drunk. And I have been getting drunk on a regular basis for a while now. That's the real issue, for me, Ange."

"So… perhaps you have, on occasion, had a bit too much to drink on nights we go out clubbing, but that's only been for the past two or three months."

"No, Angela. Stop being so nice to me. You know it's been a lot longer than that. It's just been the past two or three months where I lost control to the point that I couldn't hide it anymore. I'd been fooling myself into thinking I didn't have a problem because it wasn't significantly interfering with my work or my life. But for years I have been slowly drinking more and more. Every night. Without exception. Sometimes with you, sometimes with Booth, and sometimes alone. But it was every night. When I stopped drinking a week ago, I actually got physically sick. You can ask Booth. He took care of me. I don't know how I would have got through that without him. I'm still feeling kind of crummy."

"Wow, sweetie. I'm sorry. I just realized it's not very supportive of me to keep denying what we both know. So, you've admitted that you're an alcoholic, and you're getting help now. But this creep really did drug you, and he tried to kill you. He stabbed you in the bar, I do remember that. Your cheek is still healing," she pointed to Brennan's face, where, although under a forgiving layer of makeup, the red welt was still visible. Bones automatically put a hand to her face.

"In the hospital, when you were in surgery and we didn't know yet if you were going to make it, Booth took me down to the ER to have these cuts cleaned up. He asked some "Booth" questions and learned how bad my drinking problem really was, got furious with me, and left. I felt like my whole world had just caved in. At that point, I thought I'd lost you and Booth in one night. I'd never felt so terrible."

"Sweetie," Ange soothed, her eyes tearing up. She patted her friend's forearm across the table.

"Wow, I never thought about it before," Angela mused, "but Booth must have reacted strongly to you admitting to being an alcoholic. His Dad…"

"Yeah." Guilt and pain filled Brennan's face at the memory.

"Has he ever told you about his childhood and his Dad?" Angela asked curiously.

"Some. It wasn't pretty."

"So, how did you and Booth get from angry to what I saw this morning?" Angela was smiling with anticipation again. She'd been trying to get these two together for years.

"It was all Booth. Sometime in the hours after leaving me in the ER, I guess he decided not to give up on me. I have no idea why, but I'm really glad he did. I owe him so much. We had a really great talk the morning I went to court, and he kissed me. Well actually, I think I kissed him first, but he kissed me back. I even told him I love him, even though I'm not exactly sure what that means yet."

"You kissed him first?" Angela's voice went up in a crescendo.

"Can we not talk so loud?"

"Sure, but why the sudden bashfulness about kissing Booth? You always tell me all about who you're sleeping with."

"Angela, this is weird for me, and I'm still not sure why, but I'm not sleeping with Booth—"she stopped in her explanation, confused. Angela was no longer paying attention.

"Angela, what's wrong? What are you looking at?"

A movement across the street had caught her eye and Angela was staring out the window, her eyes wide with alarm. After a moment of frozen shock she jumped up and hurried out of the restaurant. Not knowing what else to do, Bones followed closely behind, telling the startled waitress they would be right back.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Did you see him?" Angela pointed at the now empty street corner.

"See who?"

"Do you remember the other guy from the bar that night? David, I think his name was. I could have sworn I just saw him standing across the street from the diner, watching us." She shuddered.

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**CHAPTER 14: FACE OF FEAR**

_Author's Note: I am posting this one right on the heels of the last chapter just to get it all out there. But don't panic; Booth will know what to do. I hope._

"Are you sure it was him?" Bones asked Angela. They stood huddled together just outside the door to the Royal Diner, Bones' hand gripping Angela's arm. What had been a moment ago a bright, sunny carefree day now carried a chill. Bones pulled at her friend's arm.

"Come on, let's pay the bill and then go tell Booth what you saw," she urged. Angela, pale and frightened, nodded silently and allowed Brennan to guide her back inside.

"You two all right?" the waitress wanted to know. She often waited on the Jeffersonian crowd but she'd never seen any of them so shaken. Her eyes wide, she followed them back to the table and laid the bill between them. Then she pointed at the same corner where Angela had just seen the man from the bar standing and watching them.

"Did you know that man?" She scratched at her hair net and stuck her pen behind her ear.

"You saw him?" Angela wanted to know.

"Young, tall, blond haired guy with wire framed glasses, right? Bodybuilder type. He's been hanging around here for two days. At first I didn't think nothing of it, but I take my break every two hours in the back dining room, and I sit by the window. He just wanders around that corner, walks up the block halfway then comes back down. He's always looking over here at the diner. He's been giving me the creeps. When you ran out after him just now I almost dropped my tray," she chattered excitedly.

"Eileen," Bones said, reading her name tag, "if you see him again, call me at this number, okay?" She pressed a business card into the waitress' hand with her cell phone number highlighted. Handing her a twenty, she gathered up her belongings and motioned to Angela that they had to leave.

"I guarantee if I see that bum again I'll call right away, Dr. Brennan," their waitress replied. She slipped Bones' card into her apron pocket.

Ten minutes later they were back at Booth's apartment. Parker was playing a game on the computer in Booth's bedroom and they could hear the alien battle sounds in resounding clarity. Booth shut the door to the bedroom and turned to Bones and Angela.

"Are you sure it was him?" His forehead was wrinkled in that familiar way that meant his protective FBI agent side had been activated.

"I only got a glimpse of him," Angela admitted. "But I'm pretty sure, yeah."

"Did he see you looking at him?"

"I don't know."

Booth walked to the window and back, thinking and frowning. "We get witnesses all the time who say they saw something and later we find out they couldn't have. You know, they tell us the perp had brown hair and was over 6 feet tall, and when we make the arrest he's short and blond. But this is you, Angela. You reconstruct faces for a career. With your eye for detail I'm going forward under the assumption that you really saw this David guy, even if you only got a glimpse. What do you remember about him from that night at George's bar?"

"Like what he looked like?"

"Anything. Everything you remember. I want to know what motivated him to stand across the street from that diner watching you eat breakfast. Was he just waiting for a bus? Does he live right around there and that's his usual routine? Or was he stalking you?" Booth was so intense that if she hadn't known him as well as she did, he'd have frightened her.

"Our waitress told us she has seen him wandering up and down the block watching the diner for the last two days," Brennan offered.

"Okay; see, that sounds a lot like stalking. What else?" Booth was growing more and more agitated. Unable to stand still, he paced the small room, drummed his fingers on the wall, and chewed his lower lip.

"He was tall, short reddish-blond hair, muscular build, glasses… and he didn't talk much. He seemed kind of awkward. He was good at darts, I remember. Marcus did most of the talking that night, actually. He was trying to antagonize Tempe the whole time. He was the one that kept handing her shots. He was a real peach." Angela looked away, pain once again taking over her eyes. Booth stopped pacing to give Angela a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Hey, Angela; I'm sorry we have to go over this again. But it might be important. Did you get the impression that Marcus and David knew each other?"

"Well, it didn't strike me as odd at the time; after all, Tempe and I knew each other too, but yes. They had stupid little inside jokes that weren't funny to anybody but the two of them. Once David started talking real creepy about Marcus' taste for brunettes and Marcus got mad and told him to shut up. Yeah, I'd say they knew each other."

"Okay, that's not good. I'm going to call Burns and get this man's background checked out again. I can't believe we missed that. I thought Charlie Burns was more thorough than this." Booth was irritated.

"I'm going to go meet Jack; he's waiting for me at work," Angela said, digging in her purse for her keys. "Be careful, Bren," she added on her way to the door.

"Wait, Ange," Booth jumped up quickly and stopped her. "How do you know this David guy isn't stalking you? I'm walking you back to your car. I'll be right back, Bones. Keep Parker out of trouble, will you?"

"I love it when you go all FBI on me," Angela gushed. He strapped on his gun and slipped into his black leather jacket. Dark sunglasses completed the look. Angela was thrilled. Booth held up one finger signaling her to wait for a second and walked over to Brennan. He pulled off his shades and looked down at her.

"Bye," he whispered, smoothing a hand over her cheek. He seemed to have just realized that she could have been in danger back at the diner, and the thought had visibly shaken him. He gave her a quick kiss, just a peck, really, but Bones smiled, delighted. Angela hooted with glee.

"Wow, I never thought I'd see that," she crowed. "Come on, FBI; take me away!" She hooked an arm through his as they left.

About an hour later, Brennan was starting to wonder what had happened to Booth when her cell phone rang.

"Brennan."

"Bones, it's me. Sorry; I should have called you and Parker sooner. We had a change of plans. Jack wanted me to come in so I ended up driving with Angela to the Jeffersonian and Hodgins met us here. We looked into the interrogation notes from last week on David. Get this. The agent assigned to do the interview called the dating service to get his last name and address, went to his apartment and took his statement, decided he wasn't a threat, and that's where the investigation ended. New guy. He really dropped the ball on this one."

"But how can that happen?" Bones was amazed. Working for a private foundation like the Jeffersonian, no detail was too small to escape their attention. Her interns all knew one mistake, one missed observation, was grounds for dismissal.

"Charlie Burns thought this new agent should be given something to cut his teeth on, and it happened to be your case. Charlie's looking into it personally now. Don't worry; he'll get it straightened out, I'm confident. Is Parker behaving for you?"

"Sure. We're watching a cartoon right now. It's very entertaining. Are you coming back now?"

"Actually I was wondering if you and Parker could drive my car over here to the Jeffersonian. Angela drove so I'm without wheels."

"Without wheels? Oh, I see what you mean. Okay, we'll be right over, as soon as Sponge Bob is finished."

By the time Brennan hung up, located Booth's keys and her purse, and found Parker's jacket, the credits of the cartoon were rolling across the screen accompanied by the Sponge Bob theme song. Parker clicked off the set and turned to his babysitter.

"That was funny, wasn't it Dr. Bones!" He was still laughing. Brennan marveled again at how alike Parker and his Dad were. Both of them could light up a room just by smiling. The positive outcome to all she'd been through was that she was finally aware of how lucky she was to have Booth and Parker in her life. She handed the boy his jacket.

"Your Dad wants us to come over to the Jeffersonian and meet him there. Come on, let's go."

"Is Max going to be there?" Parker and Max Brennan were good buddies now that Max was giving Parker private science instruction after school.

"Well, it's Saturday, so I don't think so. But there's a chance we'll see him. He does come in on weekends from time to time."

Parker cheered and followed her out the door, which she made sure to lock behind them. Booth's car was in the parking lot behind the building, so they went down the back stairs to the fire door that opened onto the alley. Bones had a brief flashback to that awful night last week when she and Booth had run out into this gravel lot at night on their way to the hospital. She felt a wave of nausea at the memory and forced the visual out of her mind.

"Can I sit up front?" Parker asked. "Dad lets me sit up front."

"Really? He's not supposed to allow that," Bones scolded while turning her back on him to unlock the door. "You are still of child seat age and height. I think it would be more appropriate if you sat—"

Parker let out a muffled cry that cut off almost immediately. Bones spun around to find David standing in the middle of the lot, eyes burning with anger, restraining the boy and holding a cloth across his mouth. The little boy slumped in his grasp and his eyes rolled back and closed.

"Get in, Dr. Brennan," he hissed, breathing heavily, pointing at the passenger side. "If I hold this anesthetic over his face too long, he might die, so do as I say." The man was angry and on edge; Bones feared doing anything that might cause him to harm Parker.

"Please, don't hurt him. I'm getting in, see?" She slowly, calmly did as he said.

"Fasten the seatbelt. Throw your purse in the back seat." The blond man adjusted his glasses and stood beside the car as she complied, careful to stay just beyond her reach. He'd seen what she could do when cornered and he wasn't taking any chances.

"Please, take the cloth off his mouth," she begged, staring in horror at the unconscious little boy in David's arms. "Please."

"Don't move." He laid the boy on the gravel, removed the anesthetic-soaked rag from his mouth, and pulled a syringe and a gun out of his pocket.

"Your turn."

* * *

"Bones should have been here by now," Booth said to Angela. He flipped open his cell phone and called hers with speed dial. After a minute, he hung up.

"That's odd," he mused. "She had her cell with her as far as I know."

"Here are the phone records and emails from Marcus' computer," Hodgins said, dropping a document on the lab table in front of Booth. "Hot off the press. Cam is already cross-referencing the recurring calls to see how many were made to David Grange."

Oblivious to Hodgins, Booth dialed another number and held the phone to his ear, listening. His forehead wrinkled with worry. Hodgins and Angela stopped what they were doing and watched as Booth's face grew anxious.

Suddenly Booth jumped and held the phone tighter. "Hey, buddy, it's Dad. Are you okay?"

"What? It's okay, Parker; don't cry. I can't understand you." Booth's face was pale and wild with fear. He put his hand over the phone for a second.

"Angela, Jack—I need to get back there. Now." The three began running for the parking garage while Booth continued to talk to Parker over the phone.

"Slow down, son. I'm on the way, okay? Can you walk? Hey; that's okay. You don't have to. Just sit tight. I'll be there real soon. No, no, don't hang up. Thatta boy. Keep talking to me." They were on the road in under a minute, Booth continuing to calm down his distraught son over the phone.

"Ange, do you have your cell?" Booth asked quickly, still on the phone. She was concentrating on driving as fast as she could and didn't respond.

"I do," Jack answered for her from the passenger seat.

"Parker says he can't walk. Call for an ambulance," Booth said tensely. He turned his attention back to his son.

"I'm glad you had your cell phone in your pocket, too. A bad man made you breathe something stinky? I'm so sorry, buddy. Yeah, we're turning down the street now. Look for me, Parker; I'm in Angela's car. Yeah, the Silver Lexus. You see us? Hey guess what? I see you, too."

Booth snapped his cell shut and jumped out of the car almost before it came to a stop. He was across the lot scooping Parker up into his grasp within seconds. On his knees in the gravel, rocking the boy back and forth in his arms, Booth was beside himself. Parker's little arms crept up around his father's neck and he held on tight. Two heads close together, blond curls and brown; they were both crying.

"Dr. Bones is gone," Parker sobbed. "She was here and then I got grabbed. When I woke up she was gone."

"Who took her?"

"I don't know," he said, crying harder. "I couldn't see him. He sneaked up on me."

"All right. I've got you. It's going to be okay," he soothed Parker. But inside, Booth wasn't at all sure it would be.

_To be continued…_


	15. Chapter 15

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for the feedback and encouragement! It's great to know somebody is reading this. Please hang in there-- might be rough for the next few chapters. But first we need to see how Booth and Parker are doing…_

**CHAPTER 15: Dark Places**

"Booth, look," Hodgins called out. Using a stick he held out the rag that David Grange had used to subdue Parker. It reeked of chloroform. Jack Hodgins was scouring the lot for clues and Booth was tremendously grateful for his presence. Hodgins was knowledgeable and meticulous in his work habits. If there was anything in the gravel, no matter how small, that would help locate Bones, he felt sure Hodgins would find it.

"Brennan's car is missing," Angela said next.

"They took it," Booth exclaimed. This was potentially a good thing, he knew. If they used her car as the getaway car, the police would be much more likely to locate it. Still hanging onto Parker, Booth dialed dispatch to send out an emergency all-points bulletin on Bones' car, make and plates. Soon they would have every cop in a fifty mile radius looking for it.

"How is he?" Angela asked, kneeling beside Booth and giving Parker's knee a gentle sympathy pat.

"I feel sick," Parker answered her in a voice filled with tears. He buried his face in his father's shoulder and clung to him. Booth rubbed his back in soothing circles, looking anxiously for the ambulance.

"I wish Mom was here," Parker cried weakly.

Booth's heart jumped into his throat. Rebecca! How was he going to explain this to her? Although the situation was a nightmare, he was grateful that he'd at least left Parker with Bones, for he knew Rebecca trusted and respected Dr. Brennan with Parker. If it had been anyone else, she'd have been reluctant to let him see Parker unsupervised after something like this. Still, he wasn't totally sure she wouldn't go ballistic anyway; she was always worried that his work might somehow endanger her son. Swallowing hard, he dialed her number.

"Hang on, buddy, I'm calling Mom, okay?"

"Okay." Relieved, Parker breathed deeply, a shuddering sigh, and Booth knew his son was finally beginning to calm down.

"Rebecca? There's been an incident, and Parker was, uh, exposed to some dangerous substances, and uh, I'm taking him to…" Booth held the phone out from his ear a few inches and grimaced at Parker. The boy grinned weakly.

"When I know what hospital the ambulance is taking him to… yes, ambulance… no, he's going to be fine, Rebecca, don't cry, it's just a precaution… I'll call you and tell you where to meet us. He wants to talk to you; can you do that? Okay, take a minute. Yes, he's fine, I swear. Okay, are you ready now?"

"Here." Booth handed the phone over to Parker. By the time Parker gave the phone back to Booth, Rebecca and Parker were both considerably calmer. Before he said goodbye, Booth promised to call her with an update as soon as possible.

Fifteen minutes later, Parker and Booth were in the back of an ambulance on the way to Washington hospital. Parker seemed none the worse for his experience, but the EMT tending him explained that chloroform was a dangerous drug, quite deadly in long exposures, and it would be best if Parker spent the night at the hospital under the watchful eye of the nurses. Booth found himself painfully torn. He was right where he had to be, he knew that, here with Parker; but the thought of Bones out there somewhere in the hands of what might turn out to be Richard Bauman's accomplice was driving him insane. A call to Charlie Burns at the FBI and another to Cam at the Jeffersonian assured him that everything possible was being done to locate and recover her, but it didn't erase his gnawing need to go out there and find her singlehandedly.

"Seeley," Rebecca called him out of his distracted thoughts. "Seeley, there's nothing more you can do here."

"Parker needs me," he whispered.

Booth was hunched in a chair beside his sleeping son's gurney in a temporary room in the emergency wing, his head in his hands. Rebecca was next to him, looking at him with concern. Her fiancé had arrived by now and was slumped against the opposite wall, warily watching the family scene in front of him play out.

"He's going to be fine. She needs you now, Seeley. Go. Find her; bring her back safe and sound. Parker loves her too, you know. I don't think he'd understand you sitting here when she's out there with that…"

"I know," he said hurriedly, not wanting to think too much about what might be happening to Bones at that very moment. "I'll get her back. When Parker wakes up, tell him that for me. Tell him I went to find Dr. Bones."

"I will." She stood up when he did and, even though her fiancé glowered at them, enveloped Booth in a firm embrace.

"I'll call soon. Rebecca—thanks." She nodded and kissed him on the cheek. Booth couldn't resist aiming a cocky smirk at her husband-to-be, who frowned in return.

Leaving Parker's room was difficult for Booth, but with each anxious step he took toward his car in the parking lot, he became more focused on the task ahead. One disturbing fact they'd learned from the forensic evidence was that Richard Bauman had apparently been a particularly hasty killer. Time of death on the victims they'd recovered was rarely more than a week after they had been reported missing and usually less.

But he couldn't forget that this time, Bauman was behind bars, and Bones was with a heretofore unknown kidnapper, which meant there were a lot of unknown factors. All they knew about David Grange was he had been with Bauman at the bar that night. He hoped desperately that either Charlie or Cam had found out a whole lot more about this mystery criminal.

From the hospital, he headed for the FBI building, giving Charlie Burns a call on the way. The first thing Charlie told him was disheartening, to say the least.

"Brennan's car was just located in a commuter lot at the West Falls Church Metro Station. The keys were in the ignition. Looks like he left a car in the lot at the metro, rode the metro into town, and used Brennan's car to get back to his own. We have an APB out on the license number on the car that is registered to David Grange, but you and I know he's too smart to use his own car. I'm checking for car rentals in his name, but I can almost guarantee that's not going to turn up anything, either."

"What can you tell me?" Booth asked shortly.

"Your people at the Jeffersonian came up with a list of commonalities of the victims. There were four shared characteristics: they were women signed up on a dating service, they were brunettes, they lived near a metro stop in DC and the bodies were all found on Bauman's farm in Staunton. Since that farm has been sealed by the FBI, we are fairly confident that will not be David Grange's destination."

"All of the victims were from Washington, DC?" Booth repeated.

"It appears that was Bauman's preferred hunting grounds. He parked his car at an outlying metro station, rode into town, and when he found a victim he'd use their car to get back to his own. Then he was off to Staunton."

"Same M.O. used on Bones," he couldn't help but point out. "The site in West Virginia had evidence of recent activity when I was there last week. Do you think he could be headed out there?"

"We traced Bauman to that site through eye witnesses and one fingerprint found on a cola bottle. The other fingerprints recovered from that site haven't been matched using the FBI database, but your team at the Jeffersonian has obtained a fingerprint from Brennan's abandoned car. As long as it's not her print, we may be able to connect David Grange to Bauman's hideout—if the fingerprints match."

"Well, it's not much to go on, but I'm going back to Petersburg," Booth said decisively. "I have a gut feeling that's where he's headed."

"I hope you're right, Booth," Burns said sympathetically. "Because it's the only lead we have."

Booth hung up, feeling angry, frightened and hopeless, and turned his car onto the Interstate. He could keep up with developments in the case as he drove, he decided. Although he'd already called her twice, Booth called Cam at the Jeffersonian for an update.

"An update? Booth, that would be a non-update. If I'd learned anything of use in the twenty-five minutes since you last called me, I'd have called you." Cam's words were frustrated but her tone was gentle. She knew Booth was going through hell. The silence from his end told her how completely wretched he felt.

"Where are you?" She asked.

"I'm driving back to the site near Petersburg."

"And your boss told you to do this."

"Cam, I have a hunch, a strong one. Besides, it's Sunday. I'm not working for Cullen today."

"So, no, he didn't. Watch your back, Booth," she said in her sultry tone usually reserved for personal comments. He grunted and hung up.

At least she hadn't called him Seeley. Cam had an annoying way of making him uncomfortable in their professional dealings with each other. Not for the first time he wished he hadn't indulged in that brief fling with her last year. He'd broken up with her years ago for some very sound reasons; why had he ignored his sensible side and slept with her again? Even though they'd both sworn it wouldn't affect their working relationship, it had permeated almost every conversation they'd had since.

The worst part about it was that Bones knew, and it had affected how she dealt with Booth, although of course she denied that. Before he'd gotten together with Cam for a few weeks, Bones had been growing closer and closer to him emotionally and he'd been enjoying every minute of it. But after the thing with Cam, she'd closed off again, and he regretted deeply that he was the cause. Now that his relationship with her was finally beginning to blossom again, Booth was determined to keep Cam at arms' length. He'd already wasted too much time not being with Bones. And now this. What if he never saw her again?

As that gloomy thought poisoned his mind, he reached the turn-off for Petersburg. Mountains rose on either side of the narrow valley, an offshoot of the Shenandoah. The mountains here were little more than hills, really; smoothed down by a millennium of revolving seasons the peaks were rounded stands of deciduous trees with a tired rock outcropping here and there. Because the area had never really had much to offer in the way of natural resources, it had remained relatively undeveloped. The roads were for the most part narrow, winding and in disrepair. Cell phone coverage was spotty at best, and gas stations tended to be worn out ma-and-pa operations. Driving across the border from Virginia to West Virginia was like stepping back in time.

Booth looked around at the scenery rolling past, which was as spectacular as the people who lived here were poor. The GPS had the coordinates for the hideout programmed in from his last trip, and the sexy female GPS voice was instructing him to turn onto a dirt road. His phone rang just as he made the turn.

"Booth."

"It's Charlie Burns. I thought you'd want to know some new information. A gas station west of Winchester, Virginia called in a possible sighting. An unmarked police car was filling up when a Silver Accord was leaving. He remembered it because it turned out of the station so fast he heard tires screech. When he went inside to pay, the gas station attendant saw his uniform and told him the guy had a woman with him who had seemed really out of it. He was tall, thin, blond, wearing wire-rimmed glasses."

"Grange."

Sounds likely. He never let go of her arm, which caught the clerk's attention. He took her to the ladies' room, went in with her, then came back out and waited for a few minutes. Then he just ran out of the store and drove off. The policeman checked the ladies' room and found the window pried open and a piece of material on the edge."

"So she's alive and she tried to escape. Sounds like Bones. Silver Accord. Did you send the piece of material to Jack Hodgins?"

"Yeah. He's working on it as we speak. There's more. The fingerprints your team recovered from the Petersburg site are a match for the print found in Dr. Brennan's car."

"So we can assume that's David Grange. Good work." Booth felt surer than ever that he was following the most likely trail.

"You're not going to like this. Now that we have a reference print, the unknown prints found at the Staunton site have been matched to David Grange as well. It's a good bet he and Bauman were working together for a while. Grange has a sister in the Petersburg area. I'm texting you her last known address."

At that moment the cell reception failed and his phone went dead.

"Damn it." He threw the phone none too gently into the passenger seat beside him. The road grew steep, rocky and winding. His SUV took it with power and grace. Booth had to smile, in spite of the gravity of the situation; he loved his car.

When he neared the first ridge, he reached a stretch of the road that went through an endless tunnel of trees. Just as he came out into the sun and the road began to climb again, the GPS told him to turn left. Now this looked familiar; sure enough, in less than a mile of rocky dirt road he arrived at the trail head leading to the hideout. There were no other cars; it didn't look like he'd brought her here after all. Refusing to give up hope, he got out and doggedly strode down the trail anyway.

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

_**Author's Notes**__: When I wrote this chapter I had not yet received all the great reviews from those of you DYING to see Booth rescue Bones, so don't hate me for prolonging the torture. I HAD to write Bones' side of the story! Booth is coming to the rescue SOON I promise…__ Enjoy this longer than usual chapter!_

**FROM Chapter 14:**

"_Please, don't hurt him. I'm getting in, see?" She slowly, calmly did as he said._

"_Fasten the seatbelt. Throw your purse in the back seat." The blond man adjusted his glasses and stood beside the car as she complied, careful to stay just beyond her reach. He'd seen what she could do when cornered and he wasn't taking any chances._

"_Please, take the cloth off his mouth," she begged, staring in horror at the unconscious little boy in David's arms. "Please."_

"_Don't move." He laid the boy on the gravel, removed the anesthetic-soaked rag from his mouth, and pulled a syringe and a gun out of his pocket._

"_Your turn."_

**Chapter 16: DARK SPACES**

"See, I'm in the car; just don't hurt the boy," Brennan begged.

"I'm not going to hurt him if you do exactly what I tell you," her captor said. "Sit still and don't move; do you hear me?" He edged closer to her, looking to make sure her seatbelt was fastened, and then threw her a plastic restraint.

"Fasten your right hand to the hand grip," he instructed, indicating the handle above her head. Bones gave him an evaluative stare, calculating her chances, and then, realizing there was nothing she could do without endangering Parker, did as he asked. As soon as she tightened the makeshift handcuff, he moved in and with lightning speed, injected her upper arm with the syringe he'd been holding.

"What was that?" Bones immediately felt woozy and light-headed.

"Something to keep you out of trouble," he answered shortly. Backing the car out of its spot by the fence, Grange peeled out of the lot. In spite of her swimming head, Bones tried her best to get a last glimpse of Parker as they sped away. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as soon as they were on the road. Fears for Parker's safety overwhelmed her and she let out a soft cry. Grange laughed a low chuckle without humor.

"Just relax and enjoy the trip," he said. "Pun intended."

"What did you give me?" She asked, purposefully slurring her words and trying to sound more drugged up than she actually felt. He couldn't know her system was unusually resistant to drugs. It had saved her life in George's Bar, when she'd still been strong enough, even under the influence of drugs and alcohol, to attack Bauman.

"Something that won't knock you out but will keep you from causing me trouble. I can't be driving around with an unconscious woman; might draw attention. But a drunk? Who'd think twice?"

A drunk. To him, she was a drunk he'd met in a bar. Maybe that was the truth of who she was, she thought miserably. In her muddled state, it was easy to convince herself that this whole mess was her fault. The road rushed by in swirling patterns, confusing and sickening her; taunting her. Her hand, fastened tightly above her head, ached.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said after a long stretch of silence.

"Hold it," he replied casually.

"I'm going to be sick," she persisted. Grange looked over at her, thinking over her request. He must have seen enough evidence on her chalky face to make him believe her threat was real.

"There's a gas station on the way out of town," he finally said. "We'll stop there, but don't think you're going to get away from me."

"How far?" She tried hard to sound pathetic.

"Don't throw up in my car," he warned her angrily. "I just got this car."

"You stole it, you mean."

"No I didn't."

A dizzy Brennan closed her eyes and tried to stop her head from rolling off the head rest. She groaned convincingly; that was enough to convince Grange to safeguard his car. A few miles further he saw the run-down station he had in mind and pulled off, parking facing out toward the road so he could make a quick get-away. Then he ran around to Brennan's side of the car, cut her restraint with a pocketknife and unfastened her seatbelt. Taking her by the arm, he hauled her to her feet.

"Come on. Don't try anything or I'll shoot the attendant."

She stumbled along beside him, too woozy to try anything. Grange walked her to the back of the little convenience store and walked with her right into the women's restroom. It had two stalls; he looked under to make sure nobody else was inside and quickly ran back to her, watching her like a hawk. Worried that he might decide to stay, Brennan worked up a convincing gag sound and made a move toward the sink.

"I'll wait for you outside for two minutes, and then I'm coming in to get you," he said hastily before he ran out. Her hunch was right; he was vomit-phobic. Brennan immediately ran to the back stall, stepped up on the seat and hoisted herself out the open window. She'd felt the breeze as soon as they'd entered the rest room; it was very lucky for her that Grange had somehow missed it. Her shirt got caught on the latch as she fell to the ground below and she winced as she heard the rip. This had once been her favorite shirt, although after today, she doubted she'd ever want to wear it again. Jumping to her feet, she ran into the woods behind the station and made for a house she could just see in the distance. They were in a relatively rural area and it was the only structure she could see besides the gas station and a broken down barn.

She got to the house after five minutes of hard jogging, her head pounding and her eyesight making weird, swirling patterns out of everything in front of her. This time she really did feel sick. Collapsing a few feet from the front of the farmhouse, she leaned on her knees and forearms, breathing deeply and trying not to vomit. The sound of a car in the distance coming closer spurred her to action.

"Please, somebody, help me," she cried, pounding with her fist on the door. There were no sounds from within. After a few seconds, her fist cracked the rotted door panel and her heart sank. Stepping back and struggling through the mists surrounding her mind to decipher what this meant, she tried the handle and the door swung open, loose on its hinges. The place was abandoned.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Grange said from behind her. She swung around to hit him but once again he was just out of her reach. The punch landed on nothing and she lost her balance, falling in a heap at his feet. The sting of another injection registered on her fading consciousness.

"You've been a very bad girl. I don't think I can let you ride up front now," he said like a stern parent. Opening the trunk of the Honda he stuffed her in. A roll of duct tape magically appeared in Grange's hands and soon she was bound hand and foot. She hadn't resisted him at all; she really was out of it by now. When the trunk closed her in and the dark surrounded her, she cried out in real fear.

"Nobody will hear you from here on out," David Grange taunted her through the closed trunk. "We're in the middle of nowhere for the rest of the ride. Sleep tight," he admonished.

Bones was almost grateful for the buzz from the drug he'd given her because for the time being it muted her lifelong terror of being in a dark, cramped space unable to move. This was the substance of her worst nightmares. Right now she was relatively calm, but once the drugs wore off she would have to face the reality of the situation. Sleep came slowly, along with muddled dreams of dark closets and endless abuse.

_Bones was dreaming. At least, she hoped this was a dream, because if it was real she didn't think she could handle it. She was locked in the closet, her stepfather ranting and raving just on the other side of the door, and she heard him walking toward her with pounding steps. She struggled to make herself small, plastering herself against the back wall, hoping against hope that maybe he wouldn't see her when the door opened. Maybe she could will herself to be invisible._

_In her dream, the door burst open. Light stabbed painfully into her eyes that had been too long in the dark. She wasn't invisible, she thought sadly, because he was dragging her out into the room, yelling, throwing her to the floor. She couldn't break her fall because her hands were tied behind her back, so she landed on her face. She would have another bruise tomorrow. Why were her hands tied—that had never been a part of the dream before?_

She tried to move her hands and legs only to slowly realize her feet were bound together too, here in the closed-in darkness of the trunk. The bumping of the moving vehicle along a rough, winding road had slowly roused her from her drug-induced slumber. Testing the restraints first on her arms, then her legs, Brennan finally had to concede that she was unable to free herself. With no choice but to wait until Grange decided to stop somewhere and let her out, she concentrated on breathing slowly and calmly, pushing back the mindless panic she could feel closing in from the corners of her mind.

How was it that she was back in this position, under someone else's control and powerless to free herself, after years of painstakingly insuring that she would never be caught in a situation like this again? She'd learned self defense, practiced at the range until she was an excellent marksman, surrounded herself with money and power and material things all for the singular purpose of never having to give up control of her life to anyone ever again. And in one unguarded moment, she'd turned her back on Parker to unlock her car door and lost it all.

Her besieged thoughts turned angrily to Booth. He said he was just going to walk Angela to her car and come right back. Why hadn't he come back and picked them up and taken them all to the Jeffersonian? If he hadn't left them alone, none of this would have happened.

Even as her wounded heart tried to latch onto blaming Booth for her current predicament, her logical mind, foggy as it was, knew it wasn't his fault. It wasn't her fault either; neither of them were to blame for the evil that existed in Richie Bauman and David Grange. There were bad people in the world, as she well knew, and being their victim didn't make her in any way responsible for their choices. She could her Fran's voice declaring that everyone was responsible for their own choices and the consequences that went along with their choices, for good or evil.

Beneath her need to lash out at somebody for what had happened to her was a more elemental need. She missed Booth terribly. She found herself filtering everything through the "what would Booth say" grid. She longed to hear his laugh, to hear him snap his fingers like he did when something pleased him. She wished she could turn back time and find herself once again in the diner, eating pancakes and enjoying their perfect Saturday together.

Brennan tried to convince herself to remain calm when the car finally came to a stop and the engine went off. Moments later Grange opened the trunk and she lay there blinking in the brightness of daylight.

"I'm going to free your legs so you can walk; don't try anything." With that he pulled out his pocketknife and quickly slashed through the tape on her ankles. She sat up and slowly eased her feet onto the ground, testing and flexing her sore legs. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a minute or two to recover her bearings before motioning her to walk in front of him down a trail that led along the mountain ridge. Groggy, she stumbled a few times but he must have been holding her arm, because she never actually hit the ground. She was breathing hard from exertion by the time they came to a doorway made of wood and iron built right into the hillside. She had to duck her head to get through the entrance.

"What the—"

Grange was looking around the one room hut with sharp eyes. He seemed disturbed by what he was seeing. Brennan saw what looked like evidence that at least one person had been living here not too long ago: dirty dishes, rumpled clothes, water bottles and canned goods. Desperate to leave some sort of trail, she pulled out the only thing she could feel in her pocket and surreptitiously dropped it in a corner. Grange, grubbing around on the far side of the hut, reached under a carton, felt around for a minute, and pulled out a manila folder which he quickly rolled into a cone. His eye seemed to catch on the dirt floor and he cursed.

"What's wrong?" She hoped desperately he hadn't seen her drop the piece of crumpled paper she'd pulled out of her pocket.

"Shut up and start walking back to the car. Now."

"Please don't put me back in the trunk," she pleaded, stumbling back down the path, before she'd even thought about what she was saying. She was shocked when David Grange paused uncertainly, looked at her white face and eyes filled with fear and seemed to see something that struck a chord.

"All right," he allowed. "But I'll have to tape your feet together again. You're very unpredictable. Now hurry."

Bones was floored. "Thank you," she breathed.

He'd seemed almost sympathetic in that brief moment. She tried to think. She asked herself what Booth or Sweets would do if they'd seen a lapse like that. They would ask questions, try to figure out what makes him tick, she decided. It was worth a try. She waited until they were back in the car and driving along the dirt road, this time bumping back down the mountain away from the hideout.

"What was wrong back there? Why'd we leave so quickly?" Brennan asked quietly.

"Someone's been there," he answered tersely. They drove onto the paved road at the base of the mountain and Grange immediately floored it.

"Why didn't you put me back in the trunk?"

Grange glanced at her uneasily a few times. "I'm not a monster like him," he finally replied.

"Why are you helping him?" Brennan persisted, keeping her voice gentle and unthreatening, just like she'd heard Booth do in the interrogation room. Although she could finally admit she'd never be that good, she'd learned a lot from observing him in action.

"I didn't know what he was doing with them until just a little while ago. I was helping him hook up with women but that's as much as I knew, I swear. He took care of me when my brother got put in jail. I owe him. I swear I didn't know what I was helping him do." David's eyes filled with despair and betrayal.

"I owe him," he repeated. "He was good to me when nobody else was. You wouldn't understand. Hey, I don't want to frighten you; I'm just trying to get Richie back."

"How will kidnapping me get Richie back?" If he kept answering, she was going to keep asking.

"We have a plane ready. In Buckhannon. You're my hostage. I figure I can trade you for him. I don't want anyone to get hurt; I just want Richie. We're gonna leave the country. I can get him help; he's not really a bad person, he's just really mixed up."

Brennan evaluated her abductor. He was young; no more than 21 or 22. He seemed awkward around her; inexperienced; slightly out of touch with reality. But she didn't want to make the mistake of underestimating him. He'd succeeded in kidnapping her when Bauman hadn't.

"He killed five young women," Brennan said softly. "And if you try to trade me as a hostage, you will likely get shot."

"You know what—I don't want to hurt you. But you need to shut up."

"You didn't kill anyone, did you, David?"

He looked over at her, startled by the use of his name, surprised she remembered it.

"I guess you weren't as wasted that night as you looked," he commented grimly. "Richie liked you. He was going to get you to leave with him, you know."

Brennan shuddered.

"We're here," he announced abruptly, pulling into the front yard of a one-story home beside the road. "It will be easier on you in there if you just keep your mouth shut. And I didn't kill anyone. But I didn't stop him, either." She glanced sharply over at him, trying to figure out what feeling had prompted that last comment. It sounded a lot like remorse, but then again she wasn't good at these things.

David came around to her side of the car, once again cut the tape from her legs but this time more gently, and helped her to her feet. He kept a hand on her back, almost a protective gesture, Bones noted with amazement, as he walked up to the door of the house and opened it without knocking.

"David!" A bearded man, older than Grange by several years, was sprawled in a faded red easy chair by a fire. He looked as if their entrance had awakened him. Rubbing a rough hand over his brown hair and beard, he got to his feet and regarded Brennan with hostility. She shrank back, finding herself actually glad to feel David's hand on her shoulder. It was amazing what the human psyche could adjust to, she marveled silently.

"Who's she?"

"A friend. I came to get Richie's stuff. The three of us are taking a trip."

"Richie? You seen my brother? I haven't heard from him for over a month. Where is he at?" The man's face grew even more cold and hostile than before.

"He's fine," David said. Even Brennan, with her limited social acuity, could see David Grange was afraid of this man. She shuffled back another step when the gruff man turned his attention to her and a leer formed on his lips. He took two steps toward her before David nervously stepped in front of her, blocking his advance.

"Better not. This here is Richie's girl. I don't think he'd like you messing with her. We're just here to get his stuff, and mine too, and we'll be gone. Don't want to cause no trouble."

Brennan was very relieved to see the man back off. Apparently the man was afraid of his brother, Richie, and Grange was using that fact to protect her. David herded her into a back bedroom and pulled two duffle bags out of the closet. Reaching into the first one, he pulled out a handgun. Brennan startled and took a step back. Still unsteady from the injections, she stumbled and almost fell.

"I'm not gonna shoot you," he said with a grim smile.

After checking the chamber to make sure it was loaded and testing the safety, he shoved it into his belt. He unzipped another pocket on the side of the other duffle and pulled out a pink pencil case that looked like it was stuffed with something. He slipped the whole thing into his shirt. Shouldering the duffels with a hurried motion, he urged Brennan back out.

"I'll let Richie know you asked about him," David said as they walked past the Bauman brother again on their way through the front room.

"He in some kind of trouble?" Bauman bellowed.

"Go," David whispered in her ear. They were outside and halfway to the car when he yelled at them again.

"David, where's Richie?" he roared from behind them.

"Come on." He rushed her into the car.

"Where are you taking me now?" Brennan asked.

"Buckhannon," Grange replied.

_To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

_**FROM CHAPTER 15: DARK PLACES**_

_Just as he came out into the sun and the road began to climb again, the GPS told him to turn left. Now this looked familiar; sure enough, in less than a mile of rocky dirt road he arrived at the trail head leading to the site the FBI had investigated last week. There were no other cars; it didn't look like he'd brought her here after all. Refusing to give up hope, he got out and doggedly strode down the trail anyway._

**CHAPTER 17: BUCKHANNON**

Once the trail reached the ridge Booth was able to proceed at a good pace. Ten minutes after leaving his car in the lot below, he found the hideout built into the mountainside. Drawing his gun, he listened for a minute and then cautiously pulled at the door. It was heavy and hard to move, but Booth opened it wide enough to get a look inside and ascertain that the small room was empty. He did a quick sweep within but didn't see anything different from the last time he'd been here. Frustrated, he sat down on the sagging cot along the wall and wondered what to do next. So much for his hunch. He resisted the urge to punch the wall.

His eye caught on a crumpled scrap of white paper lying against the leg of the cot. It looked out of place somehow. It wasn't covered with dust and he didn't remember it being there before. Booth snatched it up and smoothed it out on his knee.

It was a hand-written grocery list, and it was in Bones' unmistakable angular script. For a minute he just held it and stared, unprepared for the flood of feelings elicited by the sight of her handwriting. So she had been here after all. As soon as he was able to tear his gaze away from the list, he looked around, reconstructing in his mind what had happened.

He must have just missed them; the gas station sighting of Brennan and Grange had occurred only a few hours ago on the outskirts of Winchester. Grange had brought her here, discovered signs that the site had been recently searched, and immediately left, scrambling for a Plan "B". Bones must have found a moment, while her kidnapper was deciding what to do, to pull out the first thing she could find in her pocket and drop it. It wasn't the substance of the note that was important; it was the fact that she'd left proof for him that she'd been here.

She'd been here. And she'd been alert enough to leave him a bread crumb. She trusted that he would be looking for her and she had faith that he would succeed in finding her. So he couldn't just give up. Giving her familiar handwriting one last glance he carefully placed the grocery list in his wallet. Booth jumped up and ran back down the trail to his car, although he had no idea where to go from here. He had to keep looking—that's all he knew for sure.

At the point where the dirt road met Route 50, he knew he was about an hour's drive west of Winchester. He sat on the edge of the two-lane highway for a few moments, trying to decide which way to go, when his cell rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was Burns.

"Yeah, Charlie, it's me," Booth answered.

"I've been trying to reach you for over half an hour," Charlie said accusingly.

"Sorry; I've been out of cell range. Anything new?"

"I'd say so. David Grange just contacted the FBI. He claims to have kidnapped Brennan."

"That's more than a claim," Booth said bitterly.

"Listen to this. He wants Richie Bauman brought to a private airport near Buckhannon, West Virginia, where he will exchange Dr. Brennan for Bauman. He says he has an airplane ready for takeoff, but he'll blow it up if we don't meet his demands to the letter. An FBI hostage negotiation team is on the way there now, ETA twenty-five minutes by helicopter. Where are you?"

"Is the guy an idiot? He can't get away with this," Booth exploded.

"No, but you and I know that if he thinks he can do it, he'll probably die trying to pull it off. Your girl's in a heap of danger."

Booth knew that all too well. He stamped down the wave of apprehension building in his gut. With focused resolve he reached down and worked on his GPS for a minute.

"Booth?"

"Hang on; I'm checking the distance right now. Charlie, it looks like I'm about 30 miles from Buckhannon. What are the coordinates for that private air strip?"

* * *

He drove thirty miles in twenty-four minutes. As he approached the air field, two FBI helicopters flew above him, overtaking his car just as he reached the air strip's chain link gate. A faded, hand-lettered sign hanging crooked on the fence facetiously proclaimed "Buckhannon WV International Airport." Taking the turn as fast as his gas guzzler could squeal around the corner, he looked frantically for a plane on a runway that looked ready for takeoff. Near the far end of the lot, he saw it. The helicopters had landed north of the plane, giving it plenty of space. The FBI was taking Grange's bomb threat seriously.

Following their lead, Booth braked and stopped while still a good distance from the plane. He jumped out of his car and jogged toward the agents exiting the helicopters. One agent had already set up a two-way radio on the paved air strip and was testing the equipment.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he introduced himself to the agent in charge. "That's my partner he's holding hostage."

In the distance Booth could see Grange's blond hair blowing in the wind and sunlight glinting off his glasses. But it was the smaller figure next to him that mesmerized Booth. Seated on the runway, her brown hair blowing freely, she appeared to have her arms bound behind her back. He couldn't see her features clearly from this distance and he was frantic to know how she was doing. He put his hand out to the agent next to him.

"Give me those binoculars." The agent handed them over without a word. Focusing on her face, he saw that she was alert, looking around and appeared to be unharmed. The knot in his stomach loosened somewhat.

"Thanks," he said, handing the binoculars back. As he continued to watch the scene unfolding before them, Grange grabbed Brennan by the arm, pulled her to her feet and, pushing her along in front of him, forced her up the stairs into the little plane. Booth's anxiety went right through the roof. A few seconds later the two-way radio crackled to life in front of him and he crouched down behind the communications agent straining to hear.

"You have thirty minutes to deliver Bauman to me. If all goes as planned, we will leave Buckhannon, land at an undisclosed location and drop off Dr. Brennan unharmed. If you go back on your word she dies," Grange's voice announced dispassionately.

"Our word? Did somebody agree to this exchange?" Booth whispered angrily, looking at Charlie.

"Just buying a little time, that's all," Burns answered, coming alongside his fellow agent. "The extraction team is getting ready to move in."

"Burns, if we don't produce Bauman, he'll kill her," Booth hissed. "Let me go in with the extraction team."

"We've sent for Bauman. He's being flown here as we speak. We won't actually give him up, of course. And we're counting on your expertise, Agent Booth. Here."

He handed Booth a bullet-proof vest and smiled when the agent's eyes lit up. "Over there." He pointed at a spot behind the hangar out of Grange's line of vision where half a dozen agents were donning vests and weapons. Booth jogged over to join the team.

Inside the plane, Grange shoved Bones backwards into the cargo area and lost no time tying her to one of the bench seat backs. He threw himself into the cockpit.

After he'd made his demands over the radio, he regarded her with cold eyes, all traces gone of the human being she had thought she'd seen emerging. Bones began to tremble.

"You're not going to kill me," she said quietly. "You're not a killer."

"You don't know me." Grange checked the instruments and began preparing for takeoff.

"David," she pleaded. He ignored her.

"It's not too late to turn yourself in. You haven't killed anyone. The prosecutor can work out a plea bargain. Don't do this," she begged. "In a few minutes, you will no longer have a choice. But right at this moment, you can still walk away. Please, David. You're going to end up…"

"Shut up!" He turned on her, eyes blazing with fear and fury. He was so angry that he jumped up, took a step toward her, and slapped her hard across her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned as far away as she could, given her restraints. He threw himself back into the cockpit and once again snatched up the radio.

"I want Bauman, now," he growled, "or I'm going to put a bullet in the hostage."

"Take it easy, David. We're doing everything we can to make this work. He's on the way here, but you have to be patient. It's taking longer than we planned on to get him here even by helicopter. But he's on the way. Is there anything you need while we're all here waiting? Can you assure us that Dr. Brennan is okay?"

"She's all right, for now," Grange replied. "All I need is Bauman, and then you can have her back alive."

"Can we speak to her? We need some assurance that she is unharmed, David." The negotiator waved at the extraction team leader, who tapped Booth on the shoulder.

"They want you at comms," he told him. Booth jogged back to the negotiator's side.

"Take my word for it. She's fine," Grange spat out. He was testy and on edge.

"We'll hold up our end of the deal, but we need a sign of good faith that you intend to keep your end," the negotiator droned smoothly. "Let us talk to Dr. Brennan so we know she is still unharmed."

The agent handed Booth the transmitter. After a long, agonizing silence, Booth finally heard Bones' voice.

"This is Brennan. I'm not injured." Her voice sounded steady and calm, almost normal. Booth closed his eyes and exhaled the air he'd been holding in his lungs.

"Bones, it's me. Booth. I'm here." He clasped the receiver with both hands.

"Booth!" There was another silence, and Booth thought he heard a sob. "Is Parker…" she managed to choke out.

"Parker's fine, Temperance. He's just worried about you. So am I."

"You should be worried, Agent Booth," Grange's voice came back on with a sneer. "Where's Bauman?"

"He's two minutes away," the negotiator informed him. "If you look to the east you should see the helicopter approaching."

"Clear the runway in front of this plane or I'll blow her up anyway," David barked. "Make sure they set down to the side of the aircraft. We'll make the exchange once Bauman is inside this plane."

"Not acceptable," the negotiator came back at him just as forcefully. "Dr. Brennan needs to be outside of the plane on the tarmac before we exchange prisoners."

"You'll shoot us dead before we can climb the stairs," Grange returned angrily. "The exchange will happen the way I say it will happen, or I'll set off the bomb."

"Now," Booth heard in his head set. He turned and sprinted back to the extraction team and they spread out, melting into the airport perimeter. Booth got into position behind a row of bushes on the side of the runway nearest the plane's tail. As soon as everyone on the team was in position, he and his partner ran quietly to the tail and crept directly under the plane to keep from being seen by Grange. The helicopter bearing Richie Bauman was landing in front of the tiny aircraft at the same time, distracting Grange from noticing the encroaching agents.

"Here," Booth's team partner whispered, pointing at the underbelly with a crowbar. A cargo door was right above him.

"We'll wait until he is in the middle of making the exchange, then wrench this door open and come in from behind." Booth nodded that he understood.

Above them, through the cargo doors, they could faintly hear the radio conversation that was going on. Grange radioed the negotiator again.

"Remove his cuffs and chains. Tell the guards to retreat fifty feet." Bauman had exited the helicopter and was now clearly in Grange's line of sight, but he was standing about 20 feet from the getaway plane, shackled between two prison guards.

"Now?" Booth whispered.

The other agent shook his head. "He'll hear us coming in. We can't take that risk."

Booth shook his head. "It's now or never," he argued. After a moment, the agent nodded his consent.

"On my signal," he cautioned Booth, getting the crowbar into place and bracing himself.

Time seemed to stop for Booth; he held his breath and steadied his gun, ready to charge inside as soon as the other agent ripped open the hold.

"Wait, wait," the other agent cautioned, listening. They both heard Grange yelling out of the open plane.

"Send him this way now."

"They must have unshackled Bauman," Booth whispered, alarmed.

"Okay, I'm bringing her down halfway," Grange yelled next, presumably in response to the FBI negotiator. Both agents instantly knew this was probably their only chance.

"Go!" His partner crow-barred the hatch and Booth jumped up through the opening with superhuman strength. Landing squarely in the middle of the cargo hold Booth charged to the open door. Bones was outside the plane, in front of Grange, and both were a few steps below Booth on the metal stairs.

He had a clear shot and he took it.

_To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

**DRINKING BUDDIES**

**Chapter 18: Saving Bones**

It was over.

The showdown at the tiny private airport in Buckhannon, West Virginia had occurred a week ago. Richie Bauman was back in prison. Booth was back at work, Brennan was safely at home taking some needed time off, Parker and Max were meeting again after school, the squints were up to their elbows in ancient remains and life was back to its usual routine. Except that nothing was the same.

Booth stood in the dark outside George's Bar and Grill, his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and his hands jammed in his overcoat pockets. It smelled like snow tonight; it would be the first snow of the season in the District. He breathed in sharply and felt the freeze burn into his lungs. Staring into the restaurant through the window, he waited to wave until George looked up from behind the bar. The bar owner's face lit up in recognition and he walked outside to greet his favorite FBI agent.

"Hiya, Agent Booth; hey, thanks for coming. No worries, I'd say. So far, she hasn't done a thing except sit there. I hope I didn't scare you, but I know you two are partners and I thought she looked like she could use a friend."

"No; I'm glad you called. Really. Thanks, George. You're a good man. I'm going to stay out here and watch her for a few minutes longer." Booth smiled but his eyes were sad.

"Yeah. Well… I got to get back to the counter," he pointed inside. "Freddie needs my supervision."

The sight of George's assistant bartender flirting with a waitress made Booth chuckle.

"Go on. Good night, George. And—thanks."

"No problem."

Booth smiled warmly at the man again. He was sincerely grateful to the guy. He'd cared enough to call a friend for her, even after she'd pretty much wrecked his bar single-handed last month. Based on that fact alone he could have asked her to leave. The fact that he didn't and had phoned Booth instead spoke volumes of the respect and affection Dr. Brennan had unknowingly fostered over the years.

Booth pulled back so he could see her but she couldn't see him, and continued watching her through the thick window glass. It was about nine P.M. and he'd been standing out here on the sidewalk for almost fifteen minutes now, shivering a little, keeping vigil while Bones sat at a table by herself staring at a glass of bourbon on the rocks. George had called him as soon as she'd walked in and sat down, but she hadn't ordered anything until Booth had arrived and had already been standing out here for a minute or two, debating with himself on whether he should do anything.

A few minutes ago, he'd almost gone in when he saw her motion to the waiter. And then when he'd served her the glass of amber liquor, a lightning bolt of alarm had shot through him and Booth had actually taken a step or two toward the door—but something in her posture had stopped him. Something serious was going on inside that genius mind of hers and he sensed this was her battle, not his. So now, here he was, nose practically pressed to the window, watching her stare at a glass of bourbon and ice that she hadn't yet touched.

Standing there, watching her back, knowing how much she was still hurting and seeing her fight her inner battle inside the bar, alone, it all came crowding back into his head, uninvited and unwelcome. The FBI rush on the small plane had achieved its objective, but the outcome had been difficult for Bones. She had barely spoken to Booth since that day. He was beginning to accept the bitter truth that in saving her life he had apparently destroyed their fledgling relationship. Booth closed his eyes, reliving the look of horror he'd seen on her face. It would be burned into his mind for as long as he lived.

_Bones was outside the plane in front of Grange and both were a few steps below Booth on the metal stairs. _

_He had a clear shot and he took it. _

_Grange fell like a stone, taking Bones with him, clattering down the rest of the stairs to the ground. He landed heavily on top of her, the bullet having pierced his skull. After a stunned moment she'd sat up, coughing and trying to breathe. Booth could tell that she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Then she'd reached for Grange and cradled his bloodied body in her lap._

_He'd seen Bones in a lot of tough situations since they'd become partners, but he'd never heard her scream like that. She didn't get up, either. She just sat on the tarmac, screaming and crying, holding that man's head with both hands, trying vainly to stop the blood. Like he was a friend of hers instead of the animal who'd kidnapped her and threatened to kill her._

_When he urged her to her feet and pulled her away from the scene so the emergency personnel could get to the body, she'd fought him and struggled against his restraining hold. All he'd thought about up until that point was getting her back safely; of holding her for hours. But instead he'd let her go. He didn't want to hurt her—only to help her, save her, get her as far away from these men that wished to do her harm as he could possibly get. It took a few confusing minutes of fighting with her for the realization to finally soak into his brain that she didn't want him anywhere near her._

_But as soon as he'd backed off, she'd stumbled, fallen to her knees and swayed again, and her eyes had fluttered shut. He'd run over and caught her just before her head hit the pavement. Later the EMTs said she'd had two times the level of pentobarbital in her system that it would typically take to knock out a person of her size. How she'd made it that far, the EMT couldn't imagine.  
_

_Booth took her home late that night when all the uproar was finally over and offered to sleep on her couch. He figured she might be afraid to sleep there alone after all that had happened. But she'd barely spoken to him during the drive, and then she'd turned his offer down flat. Since then she hadn't answered his calls and hadn't returned to work. Extended leave, Cam said; Brennan had the most leave days saved up of anyone at the Jeffersonian. No surprise there.  
_

Booth saw her hand wrap tentatively around the glass, test its weight, and swirl the ice around. She turned her head in profile and he watched her lick her lips. He tensed until she put it back down. And then he sighed.

Her sentence had been reversed; Caroline had seen to that. Brennan no longer reported to a parole officer, nor was she required to go to rehab. Booth, upon seeing how her feelings toward him seemed to have changed, stayed away from AA because Angela said Brennan had decided to continue attending. Angela said that she wanted to finish, and that she was getting a lot out of the program. He didn't want to give her a reason to stop going, so he'd made up his mind to quit instead.

Inside, he was slowly dying as the days passed and still she hadn't spoken to him. He knew she was angry with him for shooting Grange, and he deeply regretted taking the boy's life, but he had been over the situation in his mind a thousand times and he couldn't see any other way it could have gone down. There was a bomb threat, a hostage situation and the very real threat of more casualties unless he took that shot. Proof that Grange was deadly serious and would have never backed down was found inside the plane. Forged passports, driver's licenses and an address in Paraguay were found in a manila envelope next to the cockpit, along with a pink pencil case stuffed with money—more than $25,000.

Angela had told him yesterday that Brennan had identified with her kidnapper. Yeah, he'd told her; that can happen in hostage situations. There's even a name for it. But Angela had said it was more than that. Brennan had learned that Grange was just a kid, a mixed up kid, who'd been abandoned, and this twisted up Bauman monster had come to his rescue. He idolized the man. As a survivor of abandonment, Brennan had empathized.

Booth knew now, from talking to Angela, that Bones was upset that he hadn't given her time to explain the situation to Grange; he'd just taken the shot, like he'd been trained to do. He didn't understand. He hadn't felt a moment's hesitation. That's why he was good at what he did. And now it was over and final, an irreversible event. He always asked for her input on every case—but not this time. And he couldn't ever change what happened. No do-overs; no take-backs.

A movement from Bones caught his eye and he stood straighter, hugging his cold arms to his cold body, his teeth beginning to chatter, watching anxiously. Should he go in? Help her resist the urge to drink from that glass by being there with her? Although he doubted, given the way she'd been avoiding him, if his presence would do anything except upset her more. Chances were she'd throw the drink in his face.

What he saw next made him want to cheer. She pushed the glass away.

She was getting up, pulling on her gloves and arranging her scarf, things she always did with methodical predictability before putting on her coat. She laid some money on the table and gave George a little wave, to which he responded with a nod and a smile. She was going to walk away; good girl, he thought proudly. She'd fought her demons and won. His love for her at this moment was overpowering. But he reminded himself she didn't want it.

He should leave, so she'd never know he'd been here. He didn't want her to ever think he'd doubted her. Reluctantly he turned away, drew a deep breath, pulled his scarf close to his neck, and began walking home.

"Booth!"

At the sound of her voice, his heart almost jumped out of his chest. Turning, he saw her hurrying to catch up with him. Hope sprang up, bright and effervescent, from some hidden place deep within. Trying to quell the surge of tears that had started when she'd called his name, he began to close the distance between them.

"Booth, I'm sorry," he heard her mumble before she launched herself into his arms and squeezed him tightly around the neck, so tight it threatened to restrict his ability to breathe. But he welcomed the discomfort. At least now he knew he wasn't dreaming.

"Me too," he answered, his words muffled against her hair. "Bones, forgive me? I swear, I'm so sorry."

"Booth," she said softly. She pulled back so she could see his face. "I've done a lot of thinking about what happened; a whole lot. And as painful as it was, I know you did what you had to do. You saved my life, Booth. And for a while I forgot that."

She swallowed with difficulty and he could see she was trying not to cry. But rebellious tears were sneaking past her defenses in spite of her efforts. He wiped one away with his thumb.

"I'm just having such a hard time accepting what happened. I tried, but I couldn't change any of it. It hurts."

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"I shouldn't have been angry at you; it wasn't your fault. Booth. I miss you. I'm so miserable without you."

She was a step away from him now, uncertain. He could see it in her face: she wasn't sure he was willing to pick up where they had left off after the way she'd treated him this past week.

"I realized in there," she continued, gesturing at the bar behind them, "that I am angry, but not at you. I never should have been angry at you. It's just-- life isn't fair sometimes."

She swallowed hard and bit her lip. Looking inside at the bartender and then at Booth, her expression grew quizzical. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you know I was here?" she asked.

"George called me," he confessed.

"Really?" She glanced back inside at the bar owner wiping down the tables. She looked a little hurt.

"So... you've been here for a while?"

"Come here," he demanded. He caught her up in a hug that put all her fears to rest. They stood there holding each other, out on the street corner in the cold and the dark, for long healing minutes, neither one willing to be the first to let go.

"Booth, thank you," she said fervently.

"For what?"

"For not coming into the bar just now. For letting me make my own decision. That means a lot to me."

"Hey, I knew you'd be fine. I was confident. And I saw what you did in there. I am so damn proud of you."

"You're proud of me?"

"Always."

He couldn't stop clinging to her, burrowing into her warmth, and he couldn't stop the hot tears that were running down his cheeks in a steady trickle. He hid his face in her soft scarf and tried not to all-out bawl on her shoulder.

"Booth, look at me."

Well, that meant he had to let go of her, and he wasn't sure he was ready to risk that yet. But after a moment he eased back and looked down into her eyes. Standing on tiptoe, her brilliant blue eyes were so close they were all fuzzy and out of focus, and he could feel her moist breath on his lips. Slowly, inexorably, she inched closer. First he hoped, then he knew, then it happened, and then he never wanted it to end.

"Let's go to your place," she suggested.

"Look," Booth exclaimed, pointing up. Crisp snowflakes danced around them, falling fast out of the dark sky, sparkling like crystal in the light of the street lamp. A huge flake landed on Bone's nose and Booth laughed. He grabbed her gloved hand and set off at an eager pace.

"Come on. With any luck, we'll get snowed in."

_That's it…_

**_The End…_**

_I hope you enjoyed reading half as much as I enjoyed writing!_

_ I learned a few things from you readers over the past few weeks that, if I could go back and edit, would change some things in the story. I learned that at AA it's first names only, and that different addictions are not usually dealt with all in the same place. (I sort of made that up to keep them all together.) I learned from the episode "Woman In the Sand" that Booth completed the Gamblers Anonymous program (watch the episode; he says "I went through the program.") In this story I had him quitting after two meetings. And I learned that Caroline Julian is a prosecutor- I think she's with the U.S. Attorney's Office?- so she would NOT have been the one handing the serial killer case to Booth—that would have come from his boss (who I assumed to be Cullen) at the FBI.  
_

_PS. This is my first BONES fic – feedback PLEASE!!  
_


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